


i think i've seen this film before (and i didn't like the ending)

by callmeshakesqueer



Series: in another life [1]
Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Criminal Lesbians, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Lesbian Sex, Love/Hate, No Lesbians Die, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Probably will get darker, Slow Burn, Trauma, warning: mentions of abuse and violence, warning: mentions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeshakesqueer/pseuds/callmeshakesqueer
Summary: ,,After the first weeks, she noticed her house terribly resembles the mess in the caravan she had. They had. So she’s torn down everything too colourful, or messy, that just screamed out Zulema’s name too loudly."Their paths have split, one alive, one dead.Or at least that's what Macarena is thinking.
Relationships: Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir
Series: in another life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072046
Comments: 275
Kudos: 475





	1. you're not my homeland anymore

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from taylor swift's song 'exile', please listen to her newest album cuz it has so many zurena feels!!  
> it's my first time writing in this fandom but i had to, since i can't get them out of brain two months after el oasis ended  
> hope you enjoy

Time doesn’t treat Macarena kindly.

She was sure of getting a break, for life to stop; so she can grieve. But it didn’t and she had to find a job and a place to live, completely alone for the first time in years. After the first weeks, she noticed her house terribly resembles the mess in the caravan she had. They had. So she’s torn down everything too colourful, or messy, that just screamed out Zulema’s name too loudly.

Her apartment has stayed almost empty, plain white walls and basic furniture. Looking almost exactly like the house of her parents, the way she remembers it before she moved out. And it doesn’t feel like home, at all.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Zulema said and at that moment Macarena believed her, adrenaline and emotions covering what her brain tried to tell her.

And despite the girl in her stomach, she is lonely most of the time. Waking up, going to work, cleaning the apartment, meeting with women she met at some bars, going to sleep. Macarena is more lonely than ever with Zulema.

It’s been months since she’s run straight into the helicopter and lost sight of her partner in crime, nowhere to be found. She stared at the desert until her eyes lost focus and started to sting. Or they had blurred as tears flowed down her face? But one way or another, Zulema Zahir disappeared and the unknown hurt more than her death would.

Because the chance of her still breathing is small. Is absurdly small but it exists and every day Macarena wonders until she gets dizzy. She wishes she stayed there, died instead of Zulema because surviving meant dying every day just in a little amount.

The hardest is that she has no idea why she minds so much. She and Zulema were a marriage of convenience, it wasn’t like they chose each other, right? It was the life which threw them in each other orbits and put them together time after time. She didn’t choose Zulema, she couldn’t.

It was supposed to be hate, yet enemies are usually glad for the other one’s death. And she is mourning the loss.

Macarena used to be a home to someone, and now she is empty.

Nothing is different through her afternoon shift, at oddly warm late autumn day when she prepares orders at the corner cafe, two streets away from her apartment. She remembers all the recipes by this time. For sure the one of a simple black coffee which she is preparing in the kitchen, half an hour before she is finished up.

“Can you give it to the woman in the left corner? I’m not done yet,” Her co-worker asks, warming up croissants and Maca shrugs, putting the coffee on a tray. She fixes her apron in the waist, over already big stomach and leaves. Her hands, how she’s noticed, shake from time to time and the tray slightly moves in her hold.

The client is sitting back to her, one of her legs on the seat and Macarena noticing that, plans on asking to sit like a proper civilized human. But the tray almost falls onto the floor when she finally faces the woman.

Macarena puts it quickly onto the table, or rather slams it before it can actually fall. And stares at the blank face in front of her, familiar pair of eyes unreadable.

“I’ve never thought you were the waitress kind of person, _Rubia_.”

They are standing in front of the local, Zulema with a toilet paper rolled over ice, holding it up to her bleeding nose; Macarena with an envelope, her payment of this week work. She isn’t even looking at the woman beside her, doesn’t dare to take a glance because it would awake her anger.

While in silence, Zulema thinks it was a hell of a greeting. She expected more yelling, less beating, yet there they are; Macarena told to take two weeks off to rest and for other clients to forget about the incident and Zulema with her nose hurting mercilessly.

There is a chance, a little probability, she deserves it. If not Macarena’s belly, she would’ve slapped back; at least she tells so herself.

When Macarena finally moves, Zulema follows her like a shadow. She can’t think of anything to say because apparently her comment about being a waitress isn’t appropriate. The walk lasts for a maximum fifteen minutes, her nose desperately needing a new compress, the melted ice is dripping onto her black T-shirt, sometimes transparent, sometimes red with her blood. But still, she watches every step Macarena takes, always two feet behind her.

She enters the building and gets into the elevator with Rubia. Still, she doesn’t feel even one look thrown her way. Like she is a ghost.

And of course, it doesn’t surprise her when Macarena shuts the door right in front of her face, stomping her foot one last time.

Zulema slides down the wall next to the wooden door, changing the hand holding the compress and taking the phone out of her pocket, the only thing she has with herself and plays a game. Then, when she is bored, she turns it off, humming songs and changing the hand every other minute.

But she sits still, like never. Quite frankly, she has nowhere to go. Not for the first time in the past half a year, yet right now the only obstacle is a pair of doors. Not much to get past but she knows that the idiotic mess of a human behind that door would throw a fit if she entered right now. After all this time, she still reminisces how dumb Rubia could get but she has no idea how the game is changed because of the pregnancy.

The lock clicks several hours later and opens with Macarena dressed in grey sweatpants and hoodie, making room for Zulema to enter. Zahir raises her eyebrows and Maca easily reads a smirk behind her eyes, closing the door behind them.

“What are you doing here?” Macarena meant not only this city; there is also being alive in question.

“Where is the bathroom?” Zulema ignores her and looks around, quite surprised by the lack of colour in the room. So unlike what she is used to with Macarena but she decides to shrug it off. Like most of the things.

Macarena sighs and points right, leaving her alone.

When she is back, Ferreiro is waiting in the living room, with another compress.

“Show me your nose.”

“You just wanted an excuse to take care of me, right?” She smirks, no matter how insecure she feels, sitting on a sofa with Macarena kneeling in front of her and gently taking the used paper away from her face.

“Just shut up, please,” Macarena grumbles and rolls her eyes, washing the blood from Zulema’s face. “I have no idea what you were thinking. Showing up at my work with no explanation was the best plan you got? I remembered you as more clever, Zulema, and there you are racing into my life with that damned ideas and lack of sympathy. For God’s sake, I’m not even sorry I hit you. You deserve more hits, I should’ve broken your nose-”

“I realize the distance might have made you forget with who you are talking, _Rubia_.” Zulema snatches the wipes and compress from Macarena’s hands and stands up, moving past her.

“Go to hell, Zulema,” Macarena raises her voice as she walks out straight into her bedroom.

“I just came back!”

Macarena puts up her middle finger, hoping that Zahir still can see the message through the walls.

It happens more frequently, the impossibility of falling asleep for Maca, with a child kicking all of her ribs, no matter on which side she tries to lay down. She gets up to pee for the third time, cursing in every language she knows.

Her feet hit the cold panels and she opens the door, minding her business until she hears soft sounds coming from her living room. For a while, Macarena forgets about the urgent need to go to the toilet and quietly sneaks through the short hallway to peek inside of the opposite room.

Zulema is lying on the sofa, one of her hands underneath her head with elbow upwards, the other covering her face, as she probably tried to keep the compress on, but it’s lying on the floor; her legs are stretched at the whole length of the sofa. Before, Macarena has seen her sleep like this maybe once or twice during their years at the caravan; surely not in jail. She never looked that deep asleep, even the softest movement able to wake her up, always wary. But right now, in the middle of the night, as Macarena is taking a few steps closer, Zahir doesn’t react. But she is snoring, as Maca notices and recognizes the sound.

After several minutes she comes back with a new compress and places it on Zulema’s face, her nose instantly scrunches. Her eyes stay closed, Macarena steps away waiting for the snoring to begin again and she doesn’t have to wait too long.

Exactly that is the line she crosses to finally smile; her smile stretches wider than for past months, even wider than when she felt her daughter kicking for the first time.

She is not alone anymore.


	2. so what am i defending now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for so many comments!! it really motivates me to work on this fanfic  
> hope you enjoy:D

After a week or two, they gain a familiar routine. Zulema wakes up after the dawn, turns on the radio, acting all loud and makes coffee. In the caravan, she would always leave one mug on the counter waiting for Maca until she woke up, but now there is green tea inside of it, with one spoon of sugar. Despite the cold weather, she is always standing on the narrow balcony of Macarena’s apartment and every time Maca joins her and rests her elbows on the railing.

In the silence, they both sip their drinks and then, they’re done, Macarena starts to dress up and Zulema searches through few books to find something worth reading.

Yet, today it’s different because Macarena wakes up to an empty apartment, no used mugs on the counter, the balcony is closed and one of Agatha Christie’s books is lying on the coffee table with toilet paper as a bookmark. Zulema is gone.

Of course, she did that while they shared home in the van but it was so long time ago that Ferreiro has forgotten it’s an option. Her mood instantly drops and she makes a tea for herself, not adding the sugar and drinks it in silence.

She loses her patience the next day when Zulema still hasn’t come back and she needs to get to work after the accident. It’s so like for Zulema to come, make a mess and disappear.

Through her shift, Macarena reminisces one of their many arguments which ended up with Zulema’s marathon of throwing knives and her taking the gun and waving it around the van until Zulema pinned her to the wall and took the gun from her hands. Then, with the weapon, she left for three days and came back as if nothing happened while Macarena hesitated between taking all money and running away. She can bet this time Zahir will act the same and Maca wouldn’t be surprised seeing her sitting in the cafe once again or by the door of her apartment. She always finds her way back.

Honestly, Macarena is glad Zulema keeps doing that.

But it still doesn’t explain past six months; Macarena tried to ask yet she immediately knew it would lead to silence and meant more time waiting for Zulema to open up by herself.

It’s like a disease, thinking about Zulema. Or having her in life. Irreversible disease.

And surely, there she is, standing in front of Macarena’s workplace, leaning against a motorcycle and stepping onto a burnt-out cigarette, crushing it with her left boot.

“Hi, _princesa_ ,” Zulema tilts her head and waits for Maca to come around.

“I think it’s pointless asking you where the hell have you been?”

“Oh how well you remember me,” Zulema hides a pack of cigarettes inside her hoodie pocket. “I went to pick up this,” She puts her hand onto the seat on her motorcycle.

“Well, I see,” Macarena starts walking in another direction than the way leading home. “I’m going to the doctor today, do you need the keys?”

“Already got one.”

Macarena doesn’t ask when this hell of a woman had time to make another pair and steal Maca’s ones, just watches her speed away to her home.

She is wondering if Zulema has a house somewhere. She didn’t think about it earlier but what would be the other reason for being gone so long. Well, Zulema always had weird reasons so probably trying to get into her mind is useless. But could she really pay for another set of keys to Maca’s apartment just so she can control what’s happening? Perhaps she just is planning to murder her and her another child; old habits die hard. But no, that’s not Zulema, not anymore, at least.

Right before entering the clinic, Macarena clears her head and focuses on tests she will take. And just keeps thinking in the minimal amount about Zulema Zahir.

~

Zulema washes the dishes in silence, from time to time trying to turn on the radio which remains as broken as it was when it fell from her hands. She decides to throw it all the way to Macarena’s bedroom door and that’s when Rubia comes back.

She’s changed a lot, Zulema is thinking when she looks at her. It’s mostly pregnancy doing, she gained weight in arms and thighs, her breasts are much bigger and of course, she walks around with a ball of a stomach. She literally looks like she just swallowed a ball but Zahir does not comment on it.

Sometimes, she is almost jealous. Not of the very pregnancy but the conditions in which Macarena is. Her daughter won’t be taken away, no one will hurt her, they won’t be split apart. Even her, Zulema, wouldn’t want to see that happening.

The gender is probably already known, yet she hasn’t asked because that’s none of her business. She glances aside at Rubia taking her boots off, sighing as she is leaning down.

“And how was it?”

“What?” Macarena looks up, her eyebrows narrowed.

“The whole doctor stuff,” Zulema shrugs, turning her eyes away and putting her lips together into a thin line.

“Oh, it’s alright, she’s all healthy. I asked him if it’s normal that I can’t sleep right now or you know, just other problems, but everything seems normal. It’s just pregnancy and all; the next visit is in two weeks, just in case,” Macarena keeps on rambling as she passes her by in the kitchen and turns on the kettle but Zulema’s time stops.

_She._

Macarena will have a daughter. Of course, Zulema Zahir doesn’t care about it, yet her heart is racing and a plate almost falls out of her hands.

“Have you thought of some name yet?” It slips between her lips, without even re-thinking the words. She senses that Macarena turns around and stares by her side but Zulema can’t move.

“I tried to think of something but nothing really stayed with me,” Macarena says and then softens her voice. “How did you come up with the name?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,”

It doesn’t matter because her daughter is dead; it doesn’t matter because she never got the chance to choose the name; it doesn’t matter because she got her back for a while and then, lost her again, this time forever.

Lucky for her, Macarena doesn’t push further, only nods. When she leaves, Zulema takes a step back in the small room and rests her back onto the counter, her head hitting the hanging cupboard. Her jaw is pointed upwards and mouth slightly opened, she closes her eyes like even looking hurts.

Eventually, she dares to go back into the world and she sees Maca before her face, big eyes staring right at her.

“ _Puta Rubia_ , what are you doing?!” She jumps back and hits her head, a grimace blooming on her face.

Macarena jumps back, too and giggles. “I wanted to get my tea, I forgot about it.”

With no more will to listen to Ferreiro’s bullshit, Zulema goes for a cigarette in the balcony because after all it’s Macarena’s apartment and she makes the rules here and it’s surely not because she is pregnant and Zulema doesn’t want her to breathe in the smoke.

The place is actually good, in a completely different way than their caravan was. It’s in an average area and they have, what society perceive as ‘nice neighbours’ ( _of course_ , Zulema can’t stand them); the balcony and windows in the living room are pointed towards the Sun, the bedroom, where Zulema has been only twice, is the only slightly darker place in the apartment. The balcony gives a good view on the street, alive through the day with colourful crowds, and quiet through the night; she always watches as the windows go dark until all the street is dead silent and asleep.

Before she came here, the place used to be boring but through couple last days she added a red carpet in front of the TV which she uses in the moments of ultimate boredom, some blankets lying on the sofa, and today she brought a pinboard which she is planning to put right by the bookshelf.

Maca never read too much, even when they were free and able to get any book possible, so Zulema had to fill the bookshelf in, every day bringing at least one book until first letters of titles became “El Elfo del Puto Infierno”.

She finishes her cigarette but stays on the balcony until it’s dark outside. The water in the bathroom starts running and she hears Macarena singing in the shower. Before she closes the door, Zulema throws out embers in the ashtray out of the balcony which fall on a balcony a level below.

Before the clock strikes two a.m. Zulema wakes up with sweat on her neck and face, her limbs utterly frozen. She gets up, trying to get any trace left after the nightmare off of her body and closes the opened window; it doesn’t help with the cool feeling all over her.

It’s middle of the night, too late to turn on the radio or TV, her phone is completely dead somewhere in the kitchen and she can’t concentrate on words of the book she is reading - one she bought for little money in a random store, filled with old books, some lacking a page, some otherwise destroyed.

She falls into a trance of reminding herself every part of the nightmare; the stranger’s hands, her daughter’s voice somewhere in the background and of course, Macarena, always her, just stepping everywhere where she shouldn’t.

A cry of pain brings Zulema back to the moment and she decides to open the bedroom door just to find Macarena moving her leg furiously (and very clumsily) and throwing it up, while she is on the verge of tears.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Cramp! In my foot!” Maca almost yells out, still trashing on the bed.

“ _Tranquila, Rubia_.” Zulema sits down and catches her thighs to put Macarena down. “Which one?”

“Left,”

It takes some time and more cries of pain and wincing but Zulema massages Maca’s foot until the cramping stops and the blonde sighs, a hand falling over her eyes.

“Is it better now?” Zulema asks.

“Yes, it is…” Macarena closes her eyes and turns on her side. “Thank you, Zulema.”

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up until I came over here. You left me with no choice.”

Macarena rolls her eyes, “Yes, what a hero you are.”

For a while, they stay silent and Zahir thinks the other woman fell asleep as she doesn’t move and breaths deeply but then, Maca turns on her back again, her hands on the stomach.

“She is kicking.” She whispers.

“Well, good for her,” Zulema grunts. “I wish I could do that sometimes.”

“Oh, quiet!” She takes a pillow and throws it in Zulema’s face.

With a matter of seconds, she throws away the blue pillow and it lands on the floor; then she is on top of Macarena, inches away from her stomach which she doesn’t want to hurt. They haven’t been this close ever since she came back; since she stormed in and tangled their lives again.

“I didn’t choose the name, they didn’t let me,” She says, staring into Macarena’s green eyes. “I’ve never chosen Fatima.”

Maca’s eyes open further and they are glistening in the darkness, she doesn’t move and doesn’t dare to push Zulema away.

“What would you choose? If you could?” It’s a soft whisper, nothing more; barely audible. Her eyes fill up with tears with no reason.

“Rosa.”

With that Zulema pushes herself up until she is kneeling on both sides of Macarena’s legs and for a moment she stays there, stuck in time but then, she murmurs something under her breath and closes the door behind as she escapes.


	3. you were my town

“Just give it a chance.”

“A fucking pawnshop?”

Macarena’s face hides in her hands as she sits down on the bed. “They pay well!” She pulls out a piece of paper with contact number from her purse and hands it to Zulema standing above her.

With annoyance, Zulema surrenders and stares at the numbers, her jaw clenched and eyes crinkling.

“Listen, soon I won’t be able to work and unless you own a hidden fortune, you need to earn some money.”

“ _You_ need _me_ to earn some money. I can walk away whenever I want, _Rubia_ ,” Zulema shrugs, crushing the paper into a small ball and sticking it inside of her pocket.

Macarena sighs with opened lips, her body tensing as she rises from the bed. Zulema knows all of the signals: hands curled into fists, a slight blush on her neck and face and eyes burning a hole in everything they find on their way. She will snap.

“Then fucking go! Please, do me a favour and disappear once and for all!” Macarena’s voice almost echoes off the walls. “Get everything and leave. Just leave.”

What doesn’t happen often, this time Zulema listens to her and takes her keys, her phone and bangs the door. Her heavy boots are almost audible through it.

Macarena closes her eyes and falls back, softly hitting the unmade bed. Her hands lay on both sides of her head and her hair curl around her neck. She doesn’t notice she is crying until she dares to look up and everything is blurred.

She is so tired of being infuriated at Zulema. And crying, all the time, because of the most irrational reasons. When they are together, she wants to smash things, throw them through the whole apartment; and it’s not about Zulema’s actions usually, it’s about the fact she has so many secrets about past months and they used to be almost behind that mysterious facade, yet again she knows nothing. But when they’re apart it’s even worse, mostly because of hormones playing with Maca’s emotions. And partly because she cares and a day without Zulema is so hollow it aches.

It reminds her of half a year she spent isolated in this apartment, with life growing inside of her but death circling in her thoughts. The last things she craves is for her life to revisit that state of life. And yet she told Zulema to get out.

Their perfect marriage fell apart and decayed after the parting.

Maca turns on her side and curls up as small as possible, one hand underneath her head and the second softly drawing patterns on stretched skin on her stomach.

“I need to calm down, right? She will be back.” She mumbles with croaked voice. Her throat hurts and eyes prickle as next tears stream down her face.

Her brain registers sounds and moves before her body is awake. There are soft breathing and something falling onto the floor; a person dropping on the sheets next to her. When their legs touch in knees, Macarena’s eyes finally flutter a few times and she opens them, puffed and dozy.

Zulema is lying face to her, on her right side. Big eyes stare right into her face and surprisingly, she places a hand on Maca’s arm.

“ _Rubia_ , I need to show you something.”

“I have to lay down for a second, wait,” Macarena murmurs and hides her face in the sheets.

The older woman stops in her tracks and with ridiculous grace, settles back into the place. “Alright then,”

“Where have you been?”

“You told me by yourself to-”

“I know what I said, that’s not the question,” Macarena buries her head deeper, only now realizing how cold it is with an opened window. The skin on her arms covers in goosebumps.

“To find some money,” Zulema shrugs and smiles that old stupid smile Macarena knows too well.

“Did you rob something?!” She strikes up instantly, towering over Zahir (what happens almost never) and widening her eyes.

“No, I did not, even though sounds appealing. Are you in?” Zulema snorts when Maca sends her a killing look and breaths out the air in irritation through her nose. Like a dragon. She kind of reminds one, quite frankly, loves to breathe fire and burn things just a little bit. Or entirely. Depends on the mood. “I visited a friend where I had stayed for some time and left my belongings.”

“A friend?”

“Actually, I have some, yes.”

“Cut the crap, Zulema. Where did you go?” Macarena puts one hand behind Zulema and leans down, her hair falling around them and making a tunnel. “What kind of friend?”

“My sister.”

At first, she doesn’t understand but the tenderness of Zulema’s voice and how her eyes beam with happiness, honest happiness, not the kind after stealing something, push her towards the realization. She opens her mouth and tries to find the right words.

Like an open book, Zulema is reading Macarena and nods.

“Saray.”

Maca moves back, by accident tangling herself in Zulema’s chain with a ring.

“Is that where you have been going all the time?” Macarena is trying to keep her voice steady and low but the trembling bottom lip is betraying her.

“Most of the times, yes,”

“Is that also where you hid after the Oasis?”

Zulema shoves Maca aside and stands up facing the door. This way, the blonde has a moment to study her roommate who appears in her dreams sometimes, always in the position she is in right now. Hair reaching shoulder blades, pitch black and straight, a tight blouse or a black hoodie, never glancing back. Escaping and pretending to not see the problem.

The reality is not too distant from her dreams.

Before giving a chance for Macarena to ask once more, Zahir moves to the hallway, obviously waiting to join her.

Thoroughly awake after the revelation, she gives in and abandons the warm bed, crawling out of the sheets, switching the lights on by the door to see anything in the twilight.

Unfamiliar packages tied with tape keeping the cartons from the opening are all over the floor. Macarena counts at least four big of them and a couple more of smaller sizes; the first thing which comes to her mind is that Zulema found another kind of job and decided to fuck up everything like it is in her tradition.

“What’s that?” She asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“A cradle.” Zulema is looking down, doing everything just not glance at Maca and fidgets with her hand, scratching her jaw.

“You bought a cradle?”

“No, I stole it,” She grins but noticing Macarena’s serious stare tracking her face, she shrugs. “Yeah, I bought it, Rubia.”

For a moment, way too long, Ferreiro just stands and stares helplessly at Zulema. The corners of her eyes are crinkled, they are glistening with tears collecting and she is just smiling, so wide it makes Zulema wonder if it doesn’t hurt.

She turns back to her, picking some packages up and keeping her head low. “We have to assemble it.”

With that, she makes a couple of rounds of going back and forth, putting everything in the living room, meanwhile, Macarena wipes one treacherous tear from her face and focuses on the task.

Soon, the whole place is covered in different boards, screw and bolts, and as they are rolling down the floor Macarena is trying to catch them before they fall under the furniture; Zulema growls at the instruction on her folded legs. Sometimes she asks Maca to hold some part, not too heavy, sometimes she stays in silence having a stare fight with a piece of paper, sometimes just throws everything behind and Macarena takes over the assembling, doing it much faster and more efficiently with a screwdriver in hand and the cradle starts to resemble one.

After two hours, Macarena’s back gives up and she struggles to get up, avoiding several packages still in the carton, raising her arms upwards and moaning painfully. “I need to sleep. And to shower. I don’t know in which order.”

Zulema either doesn’t hear it or ignores it, unsuccessfully trying to connect the bottom of the cradle with the legs. All Ferreiro can do is leave her for a dozen of minutes just so she can lose her mind more, as some irritation never killed anybody, all the more Zulema Zahir.

Feeling more freshened up and being able to move without her back hurting as much, she exits the bathroom, her hair still wet and leaving marks on her grey oversized T-shirt.

“C’mon, Zule, let’s go to sleep,” Maca stumbles back into the living room and sees Zulema on an edge of having a complete breakdown and burning up the crib.

“I need to finish first, you see how the sofa looks,” She just grumbles back, squeezing a bolt visibly not where it is supposed to be, her mouth opened with heavy breathing. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

She is aware it’s a rhetorical question but the answer slips from her lips anyway.

“In the bedroom, obviously,”

That’s exactly what it takes for Zulema to stop abusing the poor piece of furniture and give some attention to Maca.

“Why would I do that?”

“As if we never shared a bed before,” The blonde rolls her eyes and yawns. “I won’t be able to sleep if you keep on knocking like this, we will finish in the morning.”

Zulema doesn’t move, so she steps closer and pulls the material of her hoodie with two Chinese dragons on it, yawning again.

“She wants to rest, let’s go,” Macarena points at her stomach and raises her eyebrows at Zulema, who is now observing that part of Maca’s body. She can almost hear the cogs turning in Zahir’s head.

She stands up in such an abrupt move that Macarena doesn’t have time to move back and now they are so close Zulema’s warmth emanates enough to reach her cold body covered only with shorts and a thin T-shirt; she wants to move closer until they are pressed up against each other and all she can feel is the familiar scent of cigarettes and coffee mixed with old pages and unknown perfume, until her limbs are warm enough to move them and wrap them around Zulema’s neck. Although the only time she did that was when she tried to choke her and making it soft seems weird.

“So? _Rubia_ , move,” Zulema bypasses her and turns off the lights by the door. “Go.”

It’s late after midnight when Zahir is done with her night routine and Macarena is still waiting for her to come into the room, making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.

She walks over her on the bed, quietly and nimbly like a cat, then slides under the sheets. Macarena turns her head to her and stares at her profile for a second and then turns back and they lay in silence until Maca changes her position, back to Zulema and closes her eyes.

“They gave me the job,” Zulema says flatly. “I’m starting next week.”

She also turns on her side, facing the wall but Maca shifts so slightly that their backs touch. She is smiling softly as the sleep comes over her in waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is!  
> tell me what you think and what you would like to see happening, any ideas can inspire me!


	4. now i'm in exile, seein' you out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii! this chapter is a lil bit longer than usual but i hope you will enjoy it anyway!

The waiting room is painted in cool shades, something between light blue and mint, lamps turned on with sharp light bulbs. Zulema keeps playing games on her phone, stooped, her elbows resting on the thighs, one of her legs leaning towards Maca who is calmly sitting next to her.

When Zahir snorts for the third time, losing in the game, Macarena nudges her and adopts grim voice, “Be quiet.”

Zulema only glares at her, eyebrows narrowed and lips pressed tightly together; Maca sighs and tries to take the device from the brunette’s hands.

“And what are you doing?” Zulema hurriedly buries it in her pocket, fixing the jacket on shoulders and straightening her back.

“Trying to stop you from acting like a child,” One of the corners of her mouth raises, seeing Zulema almost pouting.

Before Zulema can snap back at her, the door to the office opens, a woman younger than them exits it and in the entrance, an unfamiliar person appears but she smiles wildly at the sight of Macarena.

“Ms. Ferreiro! Right on time,” The doctor has a deep voice as she is exclaiming and inviting her patient with a gesture towards the room behind.

“Today I brought… My… Partner,” Macarena stammers, getting up from the plastic chair and pointing at Zulema.

It wasn’t her idea to bring Zahir here, it didn’t even cross her mind when she said yesterday she won’t be home by the afternoon because of another control visit. She just threw it casually while she was washing the dishes and Zulema was dusting the furniture, as they talked over the radio.

For a short moment, Zulema stopped moving in the living room, leaning over the table and focused her eyesight on one point, what Maca couldn’t see from her place. Silence, silence and then:

“I’m going with you.”

No more added and Macarena had no reason to object and say she must stay home; of course, there was no reason for Zulema to want to go, yet there she is standing (almost awkwardly) behind her with hands hanging by both sides, because she has no idea what to do with them, and what to do generally, to be honest.

“Oh, of course! Please,” The woman shows them to come in and Zulema follows Macarena who unpleasantly has some advantage, knowing the place.

Zulema realizes she truly can’t tell what made her accompany Ferreiro today; she just heard about the visit and thought about Ro- about the baby and decided to go. No rational thinking, no reasons and all she wants to do right now is to slam her head into the wall for the one-time impulsivity until it gets into her mind to never do that again. Someone just should beat her up until even a thought, an idea like this, won’t ever appear in her head.

The door closes behind them and she observes Macarena taking her usual position, her movements looking drilled but Zulema keeps standing helplessly, feeling humiliated.

As Maca settles, she notices Zulema’s perplexed glance and smiles so softly, pointing towards the legs of her bed. She takes a few steps closer, while the doctor passes her by and sits by the desk with a big screen.

Warily, Zuhir observes every move the woman takes and if she touches Macarena gentle enough, spreading the gel on her stomach.

She is surely not prepared to see what’s appearing on the screen.

A human being.

Little one, black and white and untouchable for them, but it is. There she is. Not wiggling too much, floating and simply existing. Zulema freezes and as the doctor explains and says something, everything sounds like she is underwater; all she is able to do is watch the baby on the screen, her heart jumping so quick in her chest, she is considering it will actually burst. She grasps the bed in front of her so she keeps steady on her legs.

The memories deeply barred are opened as she is looking at the scene unfolding, everything with Fatima comes out and it’s a lot, it’s _too much_ and her stomach aches. She lost Fatima but there is someone right in front of her with a chance of a family. And she fantasises about something impossible.

With shaking hands, Zulema lights up another cigarette, inhaling the smoke until her lungs are drowning in it. She stands, leaning on the wall, next to the clinic’s entrance with a green jacket thrown onto her arms.

She turns her head when the door opens and her eyes meet Macarena’s.

“You need to take care of her. The best you can.” She breaths out.

For a while, Maca stays in place but finally joins Zulema, resting on the wall by her right. Instantly, Zulema moves aside her cigarette so it doesn’t blow into the blondie’s face.

“We both have to, right?” Maca says, her face flushed.

Zulema snorts, taking another drag. “You want to keep me in her life? Isn’t it merely, well, a marriage of convenience?”

The words ring in her ears and her throat hurts from speaking them, her chest wants to explode once again from the pain but she keeps her eyesight set steady on blocks in the distance, her head straight. In her head, a shortcut of New Year’s Eve is replaying and Rubia’s smile and a golden present handed in. Convenience. She is just convenient.

Macarena’s lip is trembling, her mouth slightly opened; her eyes start to water.

“Zule, no.”

“It was the last time I remember us talking about it. We are living together until something gets fucked up. Then we fall apart. Simple as that.”

“Things have changed, it’s been almost a year. We don’t have anything out of this relation anymore; it’s not convenient. We chose each other this time, we chose to live together and to share the apartment and doing all of this-” Macarena gestures between two of them as if there is an invisible string of connection, made from their choices. “We keep choosing it. There are no benefits, it’s not like before.”

Zulema laughs cruelly and it turns Macarena’s teary eyes into ones raging with fire and her eyebrows raise with accuse.

“Well, I do find some benefits-”

“What kind of? Perhaps you’re trying to tell me that you prefer that previous kind of marriage? You want to keep the things how- how I said they were?!” Ferreiro throws her hands abruptly, pushing herself off the wall and facing Zulema. “What benefits do you have?”

“I have a home.”

Only by now, Macarena takes enough time to observe her partner’s face and notices how raw Zulema looks right now, not hiding emotions for a second, one tear slowly taking a path down her left cheek and eyes letting Maca read everything. All the pain and all the hurt. All bad words Maca has said that have stuck behind those dark eyes and echo there from time to time.

She slips past her, shoving her arms into the jacket and marching away, her pace fast, choosing a completely different direction than the bus stop.

“Zulema, wait!” Macarena calls out after her, for nothing.

~

The photo is a little bit frayed, the corners rounded but overall, it hasn’t lost the freshness to it. Looking at it makes Macarena feel warmth spilling all over her body, for unknown reasons and she decides to not hide it again.

She knocks on the wall next to where the door to the living room should be and waits for any answer, despite knowing she won’t get it. With an exhalation, she enters the room and finds Zulema sprawling on the sofa, her legs completely straightened in black sweatpants. Her head is barely visible, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled on and book right in front of her face.

“What are you reading?”

“You can read it yourself, _Rubia_.” Zulema murmurs, turning a page.

Of course, she can but she chose the dumbest question to start off.

They never conversate like normal people; there are no apologies and no acceptance to it. They just try again and again and again so it works out and Macarena hasn’t done it in months (maybe because she was grieving and still does not know what for). And this is her trying.

Without any announcement, Maca puts the photograph on the page Zulema is reading and waits. No reaction at first and she sits down, too tired by standing, on the edge of the couch, making Zulema shift and also sit up.

When she looks up, after way too long for Macarena’s opinion, there is a smile on her face, not faked, not mean, not amused. Just a smile, with one dimple showing as one of the corners is higher.

Ferreiro has to smile back, it would make her heartless not to do it. They glance at the photo in the same moment. _Back when they were young, hot and free._

“Didn’t you leave it in the van?” They left their things there, exactly the same way as daily, and it looked like they were going to come back there at the end of the day. It was abandoned just like their past.

“I always had it in my pocket,” Macarena confesses, connecting her eyes with Zulema again. “Just a habit I picked up. Until I came here.”

Zulema slowly nods, even though her sight is fixed on her, Maca can tell she dissociates, her thoughts away from this apartment; all she wants to do is ask what happened after, where she went, how did she do it. But with the left control, she stops herself, quitting the idea. For now.

Next time Macarena picks up ‘ _Shantaram_ ’ to check which fragment Zulema is reading, from pure curiosity, her bookmark is their photo.

~

It’s late November when Zahir shares her idea with Macarena.

“You want us to move?”

“Better before the labour than after.”

They are sitting in the cafe where Maca used to work before going on maternal leave, Zulema sipping her black coffee with the little finger upturned; the cup seems small in her hand. The blonde is eating the third piece of carrot cake, almost consuming it whole at once, her bangs falling onto her face and tangling into her mouth, so she tries to keep it out. Zulema leans in and brushes the strands back.

“If you want to keep this shit with me afloat,” Zulema explains, moving back; her hand has a funny sensation, it’s tingling where Macarena’s hair touched.

“I want you to stay,” Ferreiro reaches out her hand, finally dragging herself away from the food and places it atop of Zulema’s.

Instantly, Zulema takes her own back and slides it onto her thigh, leaning back into the chair and tilting her head. Then, she points at Maca’s stomach,

“She should have her own room, no?”

“Of course, but we don’t have the money.” Macarena points out and decides to finish her cake.

Zulema bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. “You don’t have.”

All Macarena can do is groan out loud with a full mouth, “Oh, I’m _so tired_ of your bullshit.” She runs her fingers through her hair and nods slowly. “Alright, show me what you’ve found for now.”

Zulema sends her a devilish grin and takes the phone out of her pocket.

They search through the propositions and check what area of the city it’s put, comparing prices and making a couple of meetings to see the apartments in reality. At home, they search for more places until Macarena starts to fall asleep on her chair.

Next weeks are overfilled with rating apartments they visit; sometimes it’s only Zulema on her motorcycle, when Macarena is too exhausted, who later has to tell every detail to Rubia until she is satisfied (with the description, not with the apartment). One of those nights, after her shift, when Zulema comes back, her eyes are wide open and she is looking completely struck. Without any greeting, she falls onto the couch next to Maca and shows her photographs on her phone of an unknown apartment. Living room connected to the kitchen and two rooms upstairs with a tiny bathroom squeezed between them.

They sign the papers a week later while Macarena gives up her old house and ends the contract, leaving them to stay there for a month, not longer.

“How are we going to do it?” She realizes in the middle of the mess what is actually happening.

“Like a good marriage, _Rubia_.”

Now, Maca is standing in their neighbourhood by the street, waiting for Zulema to pick her up, as she was told but it’s not her sitting by the wheel.

“Long time no see, Macarena,”

“Saray!”

She bursts into the car, not fitting, so Saray has to move the seat a little bit back until her stomach gets in. For a while they stare at each other, Saray is staring at her stomach with raised eyebrows and surprise written all over her face.

“Zulema didn’t mention this detail…” Macarena starts laughing and soon, Saray joins her and she turns on the engine.

For a couple of days, Saray decides to stay with them, helping to prepare everything: from packing plates in the kitchen to carrying the cradle down the stairs. Macarena chooses the colours of the walls with obvious input from Zulema, and two women paint the walls while Maca draws out the arrangement of furniture and chooses some for the baby’s room on the internet. All the time consciously ignoring the mysterious stacks of euros Saray has brought with her.

They’re not alone until Zulema needs to get back to the pawnshop early Tuesday morning and Macarena gets a drive to the old apartment from Saray.

“She’s been with you those six months?”

It slips out, yet it is planned for much longer, questions burning Macarena’s throat since Zulema turned everything around again by showing up in the coffee shop.

Saray glances at her quickly, having an internal struggle in a decision and Ferreiro keeps her fingers crossed for just a little knowledge.

“For a month or two before she went searching for you,” Eventually, Saray gives in and when she sees Maca’s puppy eyes, she sighs and kicks herself mentally. “She was captured before. By those Mexicans or whoever you fucked up with.”

“But- How did she- How is she here now?”

Saray shrugs, “I don’t know more. Zule keeps her secrets.”

Macarena decides she will not anymore.

The first time they go to sleep in their new home, Saray waves them goodbye through the window and Zulema drops onto the bed, her eyes closing immediately and heavily. Another day loaded with bringing furniture into the apartment and finishing the painting. She has several dots of baby blue paint on her cheek and Macarena touches them, hovering over Zulema on the bed. She expects to be snapped at but the scorpion only grumbles something and turns onto her stomach. Looking at her, Maca knows; is sure that something terrible happened when they parted. And she needs to find out so she can help Zulema.

With that promise, she also falls asleep in the empty room, their bed only piece of furniture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought it would be cool to give a link to my zurena playlist filled with songs i listen to while i'm writing this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/34xd8Z6FI2txOgkP0AHM6W?si=rOx0aqK2SAWpFrw3HWMvYg
> 
> please tell me what are u thinking about this chapter!:D


	5. i think i've seen this film before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for every single comment, they really give me such a boost of confidence in writing!  
> it took me longer to write this chapter than usually but i hope you don't mind.  
> hope you enjoy new zurena content:)

The list isn’t long for Macarena’s possibilities. Zulema learned it since they started doing the groceries mostly together (the worst time when she had to carry four bags on the third floor). However, today there are only some pasta, meat and vegetables on the list, Zulema counts as she is leaning her elbows on the shopping cart. And lots of pretzels which Maca is right now throwing into the cart.

“Do we really need them?”

Ferreiro turns and narrowing her eyebrows, says with dead-tone, “Yes, we do.”

Zulema only shrugs and remains following her roommate through the store, minding her business and staring down until she hears Macarena’s gasp in front of her.

Instantly, her head raises, and she sees Maca taking a few steps back, wavering when they are by the turn to the alley with drinks. Over her towers a man with stormed expression and his very presence conveys Zahir to the ultimate bad humour.

She makes her way towards him, painfully slow and delicately puts Macarena behind herself. Her arms cross on her chest, and she tilts her chin at the man.

“What’s your problem?”

Macarena tries to pull her and mutters something, but Zulema slightly pushes her, “Shush, _Rubia_. This man has got some talking to do.”

“Well, what’s your friend’s problem? She better watch out or something can happen to that pompous stomach.” He’s not much taller than Zule and she has no issues with pushing him against the shelves with cereal. Some of them fall down on the floor as everything is shaking.

One of her hands is set against his neck; the other pulls out a knife, so quickly no one can register where it was hidden, and she slides it inside of her sleeve. The blade is resting against the thin skin, cuts it when he swallows hardly, fright waking up in his eyes.

“Listen to me. You will now apologize to her and exit this store,” Zulema, yet on her lips starts growing a smile, all of her teeth showing. “And you will keep on living, not daring to accost any woman ever again, and looking where you are putting your crooked legs.” She stands back, the knife disappearing and the only sign of its existence is a cut on his neck, bleeding only a little, almost invisible.

He coughs and pushes himself off the shelf, placing a hand under his head and inhaling.

A worker approaches them with a fake smile, “Do we have a problem here?”

“No, we don’t,” Zulema smiles back. “This gentleman over here was harassing my wife but everything is settled now.”

With that she steps behind the cart, her smile never getting smaller and she points at the stranger. “Apologize.”

He murmurs something to Macarena while walking away, the worker behind him and Zulema shakes her head, feeling a need to smoke immediately.

“You didn’t have to make a scene,” Maca turns to her after picking up the products which fell down. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her how Zulema’s eyes drop to her stomach, with a tenderness in her sight, out of common.

“You’re welcome, _Rubia_.”

She drives by Macarena, almost pouting and Macarena only rolls her eyes. “Thank you, my wife.”

That’s when Zahir glances back with a grin on her face and seeing her smile follows in Macarena’s stomach all aching; for a moment she thinks something is happening to the baby. All those feelings she remembers from the caravan are awaking again, taking control over her body and this time she has no time, nor strength to resist them. She debates internally, which is more powerful in her - need to smash Zulema’s head against any surface, or do the same but pull her close afterwards.

She shoves back both options.

They are standing in the queue, five people in front of them and Macarena hinders Zulema from bringing attention to them once again, by yelling out why they don’t let a pregnant woman in the front.

“I’m not disabled, I can wait,” Macarena catches Zulema’s arm. “Stop.”

“You are almost nine months pregnant,”

“Why do you care so bad?” Maca sighs, lightly leaning towards Zulema, searching for a place to rest a little bit. She does that so subtly so the woman won’t push her back.

“The more important question is, why don’t you care enough about your own child,” Zahir replies, not moving, even when Macarena entangles one hand around Zulema’s arm and places her head on her shoulder.

She feels how Zulema’s muscles tense and the hands put on the shopping car tighten their hold until her knuckles turn white. It was always clear that Zahir is not the biggest fan of intimacy and affection, but after she appeared again after half a year, it became worse than ever. In moments like these, when Macarena retreats for Zule’s comfort, her thoughts are more complicated than usual and all she wants to uncover what Mexicans did. And she cannot even start to imagine what must have happened, how Zulema made it out alive.

Zulema perhaps is a scorpion and was her whole life, but scorpions can’t sting if they are locked and tied up.

She shifts through the stream of thoughts to Saray.

“How did she react for us living together?”

The brunette seems to be pulled out of her own mind and taken by surprise, quickly pulls on a mask of disinterest. “Who?”

“Saray.”

“Nothing special. Wasn’t exactly expecting this but she didn’t care.”

That’s what Zulema says but it looks entirely different in her head, and she barely keeps the laughter in her throat.

It was two days after she found the right address, all bruised and her clothes torn in every imaginable place, barely seeing with her right eye and bleeding from two cuts. She was lying in Saray’s clothes, not in her bed, playing with also not her phone. She was trying to find anything, any clue where her _Rubia_ could be hiding.

Saray came out of the bathroom with wet hair and a towel wrapped around her; she fell onto the sheets next to Zulema and glanced at the screen.

“Ferreiro?” She looked at Zahir with raised eyebrows and a smirk, chuckling.

“We were living together since I left the prison,” Zulema only shrugged, sliding down the page just to find nothing.

“You were doing what?!” Saray sat up. “We’re talking about _this_ Macarena Ferreiro?”

Zulema hummed and nodded.

“You were living with Macarena.”

“Yes, I’ve already told you,” Zulema raised one of the corners of her mouth, eyes unfazed.

“And I heard it!”

“So, continuing, I’m looking for her,” Zulema waved the phone in front of Saray’s face.

“Didn’t she like… left you behind and betrayed you?”

“I told her to run, to leave, so it doesn’t count,” She threw the device between them, annoyed by lack of information and her body still hurting with every move, what inflamed her anger even more.

“ _Madre mia_ , Zule…”

“What?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Saray laid down on the bed, sighing into a pillow and laughing, not believing what she was witnessing.

“Zule…”

Zulema turned on her side and faced Saray. She hissed at the pain when her bruised cheek met the material.

“What’s your problem, _puta_?”

“You know what.”

“Well, I do not.”

Of course, she knew and realized to what kind of conclusion Saray would come after they began this conversation. What stung the most was the fact it was true. Everything what Saray probably had running in her mind was the purest truth about why Zulema was looking for Macarena, and why they lasted so long together in one home.

They are outside the store, strolling down the streets and stop by a couple of shops when Zulema notices Christmas decorations.

“You don’t have any at home, right?” She asks and points at the stacks of glass balls windows display and golden and red chains.

When she sees Macarena shaking her head, without any words she turns left and opens the door to the shop.

They end up visiting four more and taking a bus home because of how many bags Zulema is tangled in. Every time Ferreiro proposes to take some packages, even the lightest ones which wouldn’t harm a fucking three-year-old, even more a pregnant woman, Zulema snarls like an animal. She doesn’t let her take even the fairy lights, what couldn’t be easier to carry.

Zulema tells her to wait, declaring she will come back when her business is done and leaves Macarena alone with all those decorations, truly believing she won’t touch them and put them around the house.

“Dumb bitch,” Maca murmurs as the door closes with a mischievous smile blooming on her lips. With a grunt, she raises from the couch and unpacks everything; first groceries and then gets stuck in a couple of chains and fairy lights when she is making her way towards the door.

She ties colourful lights around the door, the white ones over the cupboards in the kitchen and carefully gets up on the chair, realising how idiotic and unresponsible it is only when she is already on it.

Having no choice, already where she wanted to get, she hangs more of lights over windows but then, with a pounding heart and sweat on her neck, she votes on not using rest of them so that Zulema can finish it. She is so tired, she drops back onto the couch and looks down at her stomach.

“We should eat something, right?” Her voice is smooth and quiet, waiting for a not coming answer. “I bought some chocolate!”

Macarena repeats the whole process of leaving the sofa, unquestionably a hard one, and comes back with caramel chocolate, pretty sure it will disappear in five minutes, tops seven.

“Yummy,” She moans and feels kicking inside of her. She is chuckling and reaching for another piece when the door opens with a kick.

First thing that appears in them is a Christmas tree, looking like it’s walking on its own but then heavy breathing resounds, soon followed with cursing. Zulema’s face sticks out from behind the tree, and that’s when the lights fall on top of her head.

She stumbles into the apartment, the Christmas tree sending messages for help, clearly abused.

“That’s exactly why I told you to sit on your ass for one time in your life,” Zulema upturns her eyes, seeking for the lights.

Macarena approaches her and reaches out to untangle Zulema from the decoration, having to stand on her tiptoes for a short moment. The skin on her arms touches the Christmas tree, spikes scratching her. She holds the lights with one hand when they are finally out of Zahir’s hair, with the other she strokes through them, not knowing why but she puts a strand behind Zulema’s ear. It’s the moment when she should step back, but her hand is still on her face.

Zulema is standing rooted, not even letting air get into her lungs. Her eyes widen when Macarena stays so close; it almost reminds her of another place, another time when they were together, in the bad lighting in the van. Maca’s hand caresses her gently when it slides down her cheeks to her chin, where her thumb lingers over her lips.

She never really noticed Maca’s is that shorter than her; with all of her irritating attitude she seemed higher. But right now, Zulema is staring at her down and wonders how a human being smaller and younger than her is able to have such control. It’s unbelievable and that’s exactly why she breaks out of the weird trance they stayed for God knows how long.

“Get those lights back at the door, I will fix them,” She snaps, her voice harsh and it scares Macarena in the first second when Zulema steps back and puts the Christmas tree by the window, close to the sofa and the coffee table.

Then, Ferreiro straight goes to the angry mode after being surprised and kicks everything on her way and throws the fairy lights onto the floor.

Zulema glares over her shoulder as she is kneeling and positioning the tree to not fall on any side. “Careful,”

“Careful.” Maca mimics her shamelessly.

“What is that about, _Rubia_?”

Macarena shrugs and heads upstairs.

Zulema adds something and calls after her but Maca ignores it and shuts herself in the bathroom.

It may seem a little dramatic, although this is the fastest way for her to calm down. Doing laundry. She slowly throws clothes into the washing machine and then turns it on, and oh God, it begins. She is staring at it, her eyes closing when the sound reaches her ears. It’s like a lullaby.

If it wasn’t her stomach which starts to get in the way, she would probably slide down the wall and lay, listening to it and falling asleep. She could stay here for some hours, right? She doesn’t have to leave.

And precisely that’s what she does, waiting forty minutes until the laundry is done.

When she braves herself into coming back to Zulema, all lamps are off and she finds the living room lightened up only by fairy lights and the decorated Christmas tree. It’s shining so bright it almost works as the main lamps. Every glass ball is hung in a place that just makes sense when Macarena looks at it.

There are footsteps behind her and she turns back, standing at the last step and finds Zulema above by a couple of them.

“What’s the opinion of an expert?” Zulema asks when they are both standing by the tree.

Maca smiles softly and nods, “Completely approved.”

“I’m glad, otherwise I’d have to take it all down and try again,” Zulema theatrically sighs and wipes her forehead, her bangs accidentally parting for two.

“It’s really beautiful, honestly,” Macarena adds when Zulema turns back, shuffling around the kitchen.“Like home.”

~

The other side of the bed is empty, Zulema realizes when her hand wanders through the sheets and can’t feel the heat of a body. Her eyes snap open and in the darkness there is nothing. She reaches to the nightstand and turns on the light, burning her eyes so she squeezes them.

After adjusting, she checks the hour and raises an eyebrow when she sees quarter past three.

Recently Zulema noticed that the bed is always cold when she wakes up, quite early right by the dawn. Usually she used to find Macarena stretched out like a cat, taking up the bigger part of the bed but it has ceased when they moved, perhaps even before.

But, right now, in the middle of the night, it all seems too shady and she throws on a hoodie, her biggest one reaching the mid thigs and sneaks out of the bedroom. It’s easy to tell where _Rubia_ is hiding by the sounds of the TV playing downstairs.

Zulema finds her on the sofa, curled up under Christmas covers, a messy ponytail on top of her head, sliding down the cushions when she tilts it slightly.

She clears her throat, “It’s 3 a.m..”

Macarena turns back and reaches out her hand with a bowl, “A pretzel?”

Zulema ignores it and flops down on the couch next to Ferreiro, curling her legs under the covers and gives her attention to the TV.

“What are we watching?”

“Don’t you have the morning shift today?”

“Shush, what are we watching?”

It’s silence surrounding them when Macarena slowly studies her roommate’s face, so familiar; big eyes, the best way to find out anything about Zulema, her emotions and her thoughts, right now puffed from sleep and closing. Lips pulled together, stretching the lines on her face, strong jawline she often observed waking up too soon.

All those elements and more, barely noticeable shape a human so complex and layered as Zulema Zahir and she feels like knowing all of them. So many questions but none of them accurate to ask this night when Zule decided to abandon sleep and spend the early hours of Christmas Eve with her.

“Some true-crime series, they are interrogating the witnesses now,” Macarena explains and raises her cold feet to warm them against Zulema’s legs.

“Fuck! What are you doing?” Zahir jumps at the sensation and pushes the feet on the floor.

“I’m cold,” Her eyes seem bigger, almost inflating and Zulema tries to ignore this great patent of puppy eyes working on her.

When Macarena tries again, this time Zule ignores the coldness and lets them stay in this position at what Ferreiro happily purrs and devours another pretzel.

Zulema steals glances at blonde when it’s convenient, and when she is sure she won’t notice.

“It’s not the first time you’re awake at this hour, right?” She asks, turning to the TV and watches a black bag with a corpse shown in cutscenes.

Macarena nods, also watching the scene, words falling out of her mouth without thinking, “Yes, Rosa can’t sleep recently so we just stay up and watch true crime or horrors together.”

“ _Qu é_?”

Maca opens her mouth but nothing comes out, praying to God to not be murdered in her own apartment right now. There is a possibility of lying, of acting like Zulema is imagining things, but she feels like that option could ruin everything they built; like walking out of the responsibility of her own words may be a final line for Zahir, an enormous sign to leave.

“I mean, if that’s alright… I started calling her Rosa unintentionally… I didn’t know how to name her and your idea was lovely,” Macarena quietly says, toes curling and she brushes through her bangs. She doesn’t dare to look up, counting the panels on the floor. “I just want something to keep you here, so you won’t leave us. So you won’t go.”

Until the episode is done, they don’t talk more, filling the air with uneasiness and unspoken words. Absurdly, it calms Macarena, and she slowly begins to feel how heavy her eyelids are and yawns more frequently. When she almost slips into unconsciousness, Zulema moves her legs.

It brings her back into the state where sleep escapes between her fingers, so she just stuffs a couple of pretzels inside her mouth.

“Rosa, tell your mom to stop being so stupid,” Zulema says flatly and lies down on the other side, curled a little so only their feet are touching and pulls one of the blankets on herself, until her neck.

But all Macarena can think about is _which mom_ , pleading the universe that elf from the fucking hell can’t read minds or she is utterly fucked.


	6. so i'm leaving out the side door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sixth chapter is here!!  
> (also i've ran out of lyrics from chorus *chuckles* i'm in danger)  
> thank u for all of comments, really they make me smile like an idiot!
> 
> hope you enjoy

Zulema is awakened by a nurse who enters the room. She stretches on the chair, twisting her face at the pain spreading on all of her stiff bones and muscles. As she puts her legs down, the nurse notices her and smiles.

“Happy New Year,”

There is only a weak sigh that she gets as a response when Zulema reaches for a bottle of water next to the chair and clears her throat.

A happy new year, indeed.

Exactly twenty-four hours ago Zulema was leaving for work, her shift shorter than usual due to New Year’s Eve; it was probable there won’t be any customers and she will sit behind the counter and read Sherlock Holmes, snorting at the predictability of crimes, or just watching all the items in the pawnshop.

She went down the stairs, looking for her leather jacket Macarena started to steal from her (for whatever reason) and searching her pockets for her wallet.

“What are you looking for?”

Macarena was standing in the kitchen, leaning over a cooking book and mixing something in a bowl. She didn’t even care to glance up, focused on the task.

“My jacket,” Zulema stopped by the stairs, expecting any attention from the blonde.

“Get the other one from the wardrobe, you’ll get cold,”

Zulema shrugged at it and picked up the leather jacket lying on the sofa, bringing it onto her shoulders. She caught a peak of Macarena’s stomach when she was turning towards the fridge; its size terrified Zahir, frankly, ever more when she was starting to think about the person inside of it. She knew the whole procedure, as she had gone through it decades before but seeing it all over again was as scary as the first time.

All the more it was Maca.

“Could you help me?”

It brought Zulema back to reality.

“With what?” She encircled the counter and joined Ferreiro in the kitchen who was pointing at another bowl at the highest shelf of a cupboard.

Zulema stood right in front of her, facing Macarena and lifted her right hand, taking the bowl without looking up. She was so fucking short.

“You are tiny,”

“And you are dumb” Maca shrugged and put the bowl onto the counter. Then she raised her hand and gently put her index finger on Zule’s nose.

Her eyes opened widely and she pressed her lips firmly, staring at Macarena who burst out laughing. It was unlike her to stay silent but her mind was blank and all she wanted to do was to ruin Maca’s bun and tangle her hands into the dirty blonde hair and stay like this, perhaps eternally.

Although, they didn’t do it and Zulema was out of the apartment two minutes later, stubborn in her leather jacket but with a humiliating scarf around her neck which she took off by the corner where her motorcycle was parked and where she knew Macarena couldn’t see her.

Of course, her shift went as boring as she was predicting it to be, only two clients and five hours of doing nothing but sitting in the shop. She was considering stealing the money and running away (unfortunately, taking Maca with her and that enormous stomach) and buying another van.

There wasn’t a day when she didn’t think about it, to be honest.

The van and those two years were stuck inside of her head like a curse; she reminisced every corner of their home, the small bed where _Rubia_ loved to kick her and steal the pillows to hug them like a koala, their kitchen where Zulema always had to clean the mess Maca caused, their roof, their everyday routine, the rush of adrenaline after a heist or after another point in their adventure when she pulled Macarena’s hair and brought her lips to her warm skin.

It was like a movie which after the end began all over again, playing in her head. But that story had ended months ago and she went through another one just to be locked up in a pawnshop, doing it all because of Ferreiro’s wish.

The most terrible part of it was the fact it wasn’t so bad.

No, she didn’t like the job, nor people coming there, even more the owner, yet she kept showing up at her shifts and earning the money. It had some satisfaction - to keep the job and not make a mistake. To prove everyone she was able to exist the way everyone did; that what seemed impossible at first, turned out to be very possible for Zulema Zahir.

Because there were none impossible things for her, in the end. Maybe except for that one, pathetic and buried deep inside of her.

The one with years of history, and heartache, and hatred for the sounds of washing machines.

Exactly that way she was going through her thoughts all over again to Macarena.

But, coming back to her not making mistakes and not losing the job, that day was the only exception. Truly the only. She simply lost a sense of responsibility and forgot to close the door after the phonecall.

“What do you want?” She said to the device and the answer just made her lose it.

“I think my waters broke, Zulema,” Macarena spoke way too calmly and like this was their routine conversation. _Hi, I’m going to deliver a child, but can you buy toilet paper on the way home? And my favourite cookies._ All Zulema could think about was why in the hell the blonde was so indifferent about it, while she almost dropped her phone. “Y-Your what did what-”

“My waters broke so I called a taxi and I’m driving to the hospital right now and- Oh, fuck, it kind of hurts,” Macarena stopped to take a deep breath. “Can you meet me there later? And can you bring me some food?”

“ _Qué_ ,”

“Food.”

“No, _Rubia_ , I won’t bring you fucking food! You are going into labour, do you hear me?! You are going to give birth! I’m on my way,”

“But, listen,” Macarena started but the call suddenly broke off and she giggled at Zulema’s panic, what her roommate couldn’t hear anymore.

Because it was panic, nothing else. Zulema’s hands shook she barely could take the keys to her motor out of the pocket. She broke so many laws on her way to the hospital that she surely made some record of her history, yelling out on every driver who got in her way.

Her head was spinning to the point when she sat down on the stairs leading to the building’s entrance, hyperventilating with face directed down with hands on both sides of it.

Entering the hospital felt like a vivid dream; like someone else was controlling her body and keeping her straight and tall. She found Macarena quickly as if sixth sense led her to her. It was probably most nerve-wracking experience sitting by a giving birth woman and watch her sweat through contractions and having her hand crushed.

Killing was something Zulema knew; something that didn’t scare her no matter how much blood and torn off skin could be involved; knives, hands, pistols, eventually fire - it all seemed like a routine for her.

But being a witness of a blossoming life?

All she known through her entire life were endings, so familiar, almost secure and when she heard first cry Rosa gave, the beginning welcomed her with open arms.

~

Macarena is waking up to the warmth of a tiny body lying on her chest and quiet humming in the corner of the room. Suddenly, it gets closer so she opens her heavy eyelids and is met with a careful gaze, pair of brown eyes staring at her. It’s easy to read curiosity in Zulema’s eyes but also something foreign, glittering in the corners.

“She is frighteningly small, I’m afraid to touch her,” Macarena whispers, turning her head down, looking at the impossibly tiny human in her arms.

Rosa’s hands are spread to both sides, her head tilted on one side and Zulema kneels down by the bed to face her.

She also tilts her head so she sees every fragment of Rosa clearly: tiny round nose and her lips slightly opened, eyes closed with no visible eyebrows above. The little amount of hair on top of her hair is as light as her mother’s. With pious attention, Zahir watches how she moves with every shaky breath, in and out.

“Her hand is smaller than my finger,” She murmurs, bringing her finger to the tightened fist lying on Macarena’s shoulder, slowly touching the raw skin.

Macarena can feel her eyes closing again, sweat collecting on her forehead and sticking her bangs to the face. She shakes her head delicately and seeks eye contact with Zulema.

“Could you get the hair out of my face?”

Perhaps it’s the atmosphere of the first day of a new year, at 5 a.m., or simply being a witness to a miracle but Zulema doesn’t argue but simply gets up and brushes the hair on both sides of her head, making sure it won’t bother Maca and moves back onto her chair, bringing legs on the seat and entangling hands around her knees. She leans towards the wall, looking at the ceiling and remembering about the pawnshop left opened in the city and stops herself from hitting the wall until it breaks.

Then, it’s quick to realize they need a car. To get Rosa home in a couple of days, as soon as possible.

When she decides to speak up, Macarena turns out to be in a deep sleep already and the little girl in her hands accompanying her. Like mother, like daughter.

She leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Listen, _hermanita_ , it’s a great deal,”

“You’re saying bullshit, complete bullshit,” Saray is standing in the door, wearing pyjamas and face saying everything that she can’t say because of how bad her throat hurts in the morning.

“Just give me the keys,” Zulema leans forward, her hands in pockets of a hoodie with fire print, her knuckles frozen by the mist appearing after dawn.

“Kiss my ass.”

Saray closes the door, without locking it so Zule knows to simply enter.

She manages to keep her hands not shaking despite emotions bottling up inside of her. It feels like they are getting higher, finally to be stuck in her throat and she is afraid once she speaks up, she will throw up all of them.

The thing is, Zulema doesn’t know if she will be coming back. To the city, to Macarena and her baby. To _Rosa_.

It was the plan at first to borrow Saray’s car and leave her the motorcycle, so they can take Rosa home but when she is standing in the house where she hid for months, sometimes even terrified to take a step outside, it all blurs. The purpose is no longer in her mind when everything hits her in the rooms that were her cave.

She finds Saray in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cigarette in her hand and fresh coffee standing beside her left hip. Zulema takes a sip, scrunching her nose at the taste of milk and sugar. Completely ridiculous of Vargas.

“What do you need my car for?” Saray asks, inhaling the smoke and rising her eyebrows. “Huh, Zule?”

“Don’t know anymore, too many options,”

“Did you argue with Maca?”

“What?” Zulema scoffs and leans back, their arms touching when she reaches for Saray’s cigarette. “No. Quite the opposite,”

“I have no fucking idea why you need the car for, then.”

“I need to leave,” She decides in the swift motion of the moment when her heart skips a beat, pulsing with pain. Macarena will carry on, it’s not like she’s important enough for Ferreiro to feel the absence in the apartment. There is money hidden in the apartment, mayhap, she could send her more she always have hidden with her.

At first, Saray starts laughing, her head tilting back but when Zulema only smiles back, she stops and turns her head.

“Are you serious?”

Zulema shrugs and lights up another cigarette, focusing on how her tensed body relaxes when her lungs drown in smoke, filling up with it. She hasn’t smoked in such a long time, mostly because Macarena was around, that when she finally does it brings this special feeling of release for a second or two.

“It’s about the Mexicans, isn’t it?”

The deadly silence which is hanging between them feels like there is a pendulum swinging both ways and one of them will be finally hit.

“Zulema, listen to me. They are gone,” Saray bounces from the counter and faces her best friend. “They won’t catch you, ever, I swear. I promised to protect you, right?”

“I couldn’t care less about myself. I need to protect her and Rosa.”

“Who is Rosa?”

Zulema’s eyebrows are slightly pushed together as her hand wanders around her throat, nervously sliding on it and tilting her head when she glances at the other woman. “Her daughter.”

“Wait, wait, wait, she already had the baby?”

“Yeah, four hours ago,”

“So you are the father of the year, I don’t know another one who leaves so quickly a child,”

“Stop this for fuck’s sake, it’s not about Rosa,” Zahir pushes Saray when she starts pacing around the kitchen, the ashes fall onto the floor with every tilt of a cigarette.

Saray throws up her hands, opening her mouth in clear confusion. “Haven’t you thought of telling Macarena about everything?” She suggests it when Zulema is standing on the other side of the room, behind the table. Her hands hit it with empty noise as she leans over it.

But instead of words, her answer is a snort and a shake of her head.

“You want to protect them, _puta_ , so if Macarena being aware of what can come after you would make it safer. Even though, for me, there is no danger anymore.”

In months Zulema hasn’t heard such nonsense. The danger is still near, partly lives in her; as long as she is alive there is a chance of Mexicans, or what’s left of them finding her. And finding her meant also finding Macarena Ferreiro. And everything in between.

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You didn’t expect of me to just give you the car with no explanations, we both know it, so now you have to deal with it. And talk it out.”

“No! You don’t fucking understand!” Zulema raises her hand and reaches it out to Saray, not handling her emotions too well and the shaking of her whole body is visible. “I-I am not able to talk about this, it can’t leave my mouth, _joder_. If I could, I would tell her and I would go through this cursed discussion with you. But I can’t. It’s just something I can’t speak about. It paralyzes me like nothing ever before and I went through some fucked up shit. I know there is something so clearly fucked up with me, was even before leaving the prison but it’ different now-”

Her eyes seem to be made out of glass, one blink and they will break. When first tears find their path down her face, Saray knows not to come closer because all they can do is cut her skin while she tries to wipe them.

“Continue,” She simply says, not showing any emotion with all of her will. Just to not disturb Zahir.

Zulema looks up, biting her cheek and looking up through the window before blowing air out of her mouth, cigarette already burnt out.

“Every time Ma- she expects me to say anything about that time I can’t think. When I try, the hardest I’m able to, to think about the times with Mexicans, when they kept me there, I can’t remember anything. I have no idea if I just buried it all so fucking deep to not remember it or I simply forgot. How the hell am I supposed to talk about something I don’t remember, Saray?”

It takes a couple of steps to round the table and take Zulema into her arms. Saray feels arms around her also tighten and a wet face hides in the crook of her neck. She doesn’t speak up about the tears leaving marks on her pyjama Through their embrace, Zulema keeps her eyes closed and calms her breath.

“I will give you the car but you know what you gotta do.”

Zahir nods her head softly. She needs to come back home.


	7. i can see you starin' honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!  
> sorry it took me so long to post but my school has started and it is what it is:(  
> thank you so much for all comments! they mean so much to me and make my day every single time<3  
> hope you enjoy

The time they can find peace is hidden between 4 and 6 a.m., when Rosa closes her tearful eyes, tired out by non-stopping screaming of pain. Terrible colics keep all household awake until blissful hours before the dawn.

“Close your eyes,” Zulema says, her voice shagged out of emotions, checking the temperature of the water as she turns on the showerhead.

Macarena is curled up in the bathtub; her hands are around her knees which are pressed up against her stomach and chest, her head is tilting to the side, touching the edge of the bathtub. She doesn’t even have to close them because they already are - turns out sleep is good everywhere when you are uprose twenty hours daily.

Water is streaming down her face, so she presses her lips tightly. The way Zulema softly brushes through her hair to wash off shampoo makes her even more sleepy. She doesn’t remember when was the last time she had her hair washed; she doesn’t remember the last time she actually was in the bathroom for longer than five minutes.

She hears a bottle opening behind her and Zulema applies a thick layer of conditioner onto her hair and moves back, resting her head on the other side of the bathtub.

The bathroom’s door is wide open in case Rosa wakes up and pure silence feels like a blessing; Zulema doesn’t know if she will sleep before her work - if it’s even worth doing when she will receive maybe one hour of rest. Her priority is putting _Rubia_ into comfortable warm pyjamas and throwing her into the bed which hasn’t seen her for days.

As several minutes pass, Zulema gets up with a groan and repeats washing Macarena’s hair until it’s only dripping with water.

“Do I need to get up?” Macarena mumbles, still in the position; only her head is burrowed down.

“ _Venga_ ,” She pulls her, holding the woman underneath armpits.

Macarena gives in and raises from the warm water which is already escaping and covers herself in the towel Zulema is handing to her. Zahir turns her head to the side and turns her eyes away until she sees with the corner that Macarena is covered and holds her arms when she steps out of the bathtub.

“ _Vale, vale,_ ” Macarena nods, surely lost in her mind concluding from the late answer. “It just still kinda hurts.”

Zulema hands her big sweatpants, now hanging in the hips and stomach where they used to be tight and one of her long-sleeved blouses, also loose on the blonde. When she notices her struggling with pants, she kneels down and puts them on her legs.

“I’m so tired, Zulema...” Like giving proof for her words, Macarena yawns.

“I see.”

“I wanna sleep, take me to bed.”

Zulema holds herself from commenting on it and only smirks, pushing Maca in front of her and fairly, pushing her forward all their way to the bedroom, which luckily is a door away from the bathroom.

It’s a matter of time, _really short_ period of time when Macarena is snoring, living (or rather sleeping) her best life, carelessly lied on top of the bedsheets, taking up most of the space on the bed.

Crossing her fingers to not wake up Rosa, Zulema lights up a little lamp on the nightstand and finds her phone. She takes one photo of Maca lying like this, looking like she barely made it out alive from a battle; for a moment she is thinking about already destroyed polaroid and pities she couldn’t use it.

One last time, she checks if Rosa is asleep in the cradle by the window and then falls onto the bed, moving Macarena a bit and with remnants of her energy, she turns on the alarm and greets her old demons in sleep.

~

It’s not even her child but Zulema hates staying away from Rosa through her longest shifts. She spends them thinking about, now two, rubias at home. It feels absurd to wait patiently behind the counter in the pawnshop, sometimes standing in front of the local with a cigarette and have her focus pointed only at her roommates. Completely absurd and out of character.

Too calm, too steady.

The knife inside of her pocket is just begging to be used and the costumes at her bottom drawer appealing to put on, just for another robbery.

For regular people, it must sound miserable but Zulema is grieving her old life; not the one in prison for sure, but the one in the van. Just sometimes and she is reminded of it less and less but it still is in her. Yet, the price of it would cost too much, so that’s exactly why she is listening to the old couple argue if they are selling a watch and imagining how she would murder them.

That’s the thing about committing a crime - you have to outweigh if it would be really worth it and being killed by Macarena after whatever shit Zule would pull off, surely is not.

And she promised to stay. A promise is a promise. Although she has one which still isn’t fulfilled, and won’t be.

On her way home, she buys a box of doughnuts - it took around twelve texts from Macarena, spamming her with useless emojis and capital letters to give in. It’s completely unhealthy but Zulema has already stopped her from smoking and reminds her of it, so the doughnuts are agreement they settled on.

She is greeted with smoke and crying baby. Just what she expected.

“Thank God, you’re home! Hold her, the dinner is burning!” Macarena presses Rosa to Zulema’s chest after the brunette places the box on the table and approaches Maca.

She stiffs with the baby in her arms, clutching her and wondering what she did wrong in her life to deserve this shit. Then, her past surfaces and it’s quite clear why she is being punished right now.

While Ferreiro does whatever the fuck she can to save their dinner in the kitchen, Zulema is standing with Rosa and staring at her little face with pure frighten. Rosa must be as terrified, or surprised as her because her bright blue eyes are wide opened examining Zulema’s features.

Despite it’s been almost a month, she hasn’t held Rosa in her arms before; excluding the soft touches in the hospital, she hasn’t really touched her at all. She is so tiny and fragile and Zulema is scared her curse of ruining such lovely things and people will also reach Rosa bringing once she touches her. She can not bring herself to make any movement beside Rosa closer and hugging her to her chest.

With that Rosa blinks a couple of time and guides her little fist to Zulema’s dark hair and pulls it slightly, making Zulema lean down. Their noses almost touch and Zahir stops breathing for a moment.

“Could you-”

Macarena stops dead in her tracks when the dinner is saved and everything soothes down. She leaves the kitchen with two plates but forgets about them as she sees Zulema staring helplessly in love with the baby in her arms.

“Is everything alright here?” She decides to ask, seeing Rosa is pulling the hair again.

In the same exact way, both of them ignore her still looking at each other, enchanted by each other and Macarena sighs and places the plates onto the table. But, instead of sitting down and finally eating a warm meal, she can’t rest without Rosa close to her.

She takes her from Zulema’s arms carefully; it wakes Zahir up from her thoughts. Her eyes are still wide and glistening.

For a moment, she turns back, recollecting herself back again and Macarena gives her that time because she is oddly moved by the scene, too.

After the dinner, Macarena spreads out a bunch of blankets on the floor, moving the coffee table aside, and lies Rosa in the middle of it, surrounded by toys and plushies. She settles down next to her, their heads touch slightly.

Zulema falls on the other side of Rosa, on her right side and helps steady herself resting her head on the right hand, stretched enough so she can look on both Macarena and the little girl.

“What are you doing?”

“Resting,” Maca says, reaching for a small fluffy dog and handing it to Rosa who throws it away. “Playing.”

“Well, it goes extremely well,” Zulema remarks and watches as Rosa brushes off every toy. “She needs some _brain stimulation_ not… this” She brings a clown in front of Macarena’s face and raises her eyebrows, disapprovingly.

“She is barely four weeks old, what do you mean _brain_ _stimulation_?”

“Books, my darling, books,” She grins like a devil when she pulls out a novel from behind her and clears her throat. “She needs to hear someone read.”

“I read her to sleep every day!”

“Not true literature,”

“You’re not going to read her some horror book, Zulema.”

“It’s not horror, Maca,” She mocks the way Macarena said it, rolling her eyes at the blonde. She opens the book at the marked page, “Not this time, at least. It’s… Well listen and you will see.”

At first, Macarena doesn’t do it, just for the sick satisfaction of not obeying Zulema but her rough and low voice as she spits out a sentence after sentence gets into her head easily, spilling echoing words around her head with odd warmness. She can’t even focus on them, as they blend together.

“ _We both start to laugh at the same time, and then we are dancing, flinging each other around the room, laughing and dancing until we fall back onto the couch, panting. I look over at Henry, and I wonder that on a cellular level he is so different, so other, when he’s just a man in a white button-down shirt and a pea jacket whose hand feels like skin and bone in men, a man who smiles just like a human._ ” In the middle of a paragraph, Zulema looks up from the book opened on the floor and first checks Rosa. Her fist in trying to find a way inside her mouth but her eyes are almost focused on Zulema. Then, her eyes shift to Macarena’s which are softly closing. “Not really a horror story, is it?”

“Continue,” Maca murmurs and nods her head, waiting for another part. She doesn’t know about who Zulema is talking about and what’s wrong with the man named Henry but she can’t bring herself to care. All that’s in her mind is the voice delivering stories like it was made just for it. Created to soothe the pain by gentle rasp and tender exclamations; to connect stories with people, to lull the most disturbed until they don’t have nightmares.

“ _I always knew he was different, what does it matter? a few letter of code? but somehow it must matter, and somehow we must change it, and somewhere on the other side of the city Dr. Kendrick is sitting in his office figuring out how to make mice that defy the rules of time. I laugh, but it’s life and death, and I stop laughing and put my hand over my mouth_.”

When Zulema takes a break to get a glass of water, Macarena reaches over Rosa and takes the book into her hands, reading the paragraph over and over again. The words sound different in her head than they did when Zulema said them.

Zulema Zahir is different, too, Macarena realizes, but no doctor is here to fix whatever is changed in her code. Theoretically, yes, there are specialists, but Zulema could never open up to them and Maca doesn’t expect from her to do so. And she doesn’t really know if she would want to fix Zulema in any way. Her code is broken, it is, utterly bruised, and wounded, and scarred but… She understands. Somehow, maybe not entirely but when their eyes meet again and she hands the book back, forgetting to check the title, she feels she could understand.

After all those years.

She closes her eyes, hearing the title of the next chapter and snuggles closer to her daughter.

~

Macarena curls up underneath a Christmas blanket they haven’t hidden yet in the closet and reaches for Zulema’s book; one of them as piles of lectures are on the floor and every surface possible. But she reaches for the one Zulema read them for over an hour day before, succeeding in making both of Ferreiros fall asleep.

_The Time Traveller’s Wife_ , the title reads and she flicks through a couple of first pages, of recommendations and dedications until she notices underlined sentence with a fine pencil.

‘ _Why is love intensified by absence?_ ’

The very thought of Zulema sitting over the book and marking this sentence, and presumably more of them, makes her heart flutter. Books are dearest to Zulema, she knew it even in prison; reading notes on further pages feels like a religious experience, not allowed one.

She is thoroughly exhausted after her visit to the doctor which she needs to take Rosa to every month. The girl fell asleep in her cradle almost instantly and she sits here just for a moment before joining her.

The moment turns into a couple of hours because Macarena wakes up when the lights are off, it’s dark outside and high-pitched cries resound upstairs. Her confused and stiff body tenses and she rises, almost immediately falling back onto the couch because of dark spots appearing in front of her eyes and vertigo.

Then, she is running, jumping every two steps and doesn’t even notice the cries stop until she is reaching the door of their bedroom.

Zulema is holding Rosa and slightly rocking her side to side, her soft voice whispering words of a lullaby, “ _Yalla yalla habibi, yalla yalla tnam_ …”

After a minute or two, Zulema sits down on the edge of the bed, still singly softly. When whimpering ceases and Rosa’s breathing slows down, she places a single kiss on top of her head and turns around to lay her down in the big bed.

Her eyes notice small silhouette entering the room and she stops moving for a moment until she realizes it’s only Macarena. It’s only her.

“I’m sorry she woke you up,” Macarena whispers as she is walking towards the bed.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Zulema admits and shrugs, stretching her bare legs on the bedsheets while tucking Rosa so she ends up covered to her neck. Through her sleep, she throws her tiny hands around, hitting Zulema’s nose, yet the woman only scrunches her nose with no word of complaint. “She is a little tiger.”

Macarena sits on the other side of the bed, pulling one knee to her chest and resting her chin on it. “What do you mean?”

“A fighter,” Zulema glances down and back at Macarena. “Just like her mother.”

“Well, you are training her equally well as you did with me.” She smiles with visible dimples.

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet! She will see,” Zulema chuckles and Maca joins her but they silence as soon as Rosa moves.

“Wait a moment… you think I’m a tiger?”

“ _Qué_?”

“You literally just said I’m a tiger.”

“Shut up, Maca.” Zulema hides her face in her hands, groaning quietly.

“You think I’m a tiger!” Macarena laughs way too loud and makes her best roars possible while pointing faked claws at Zulema.

“Shut up.”

“Rawr.”

“Oh my,” Zulema falls onto her pillow and refuses to look up, turning onto her side to face the wall.

“Have wild dreams,” Macarena giggles out.

“I hate you, _Rubia_.”

“No, you don’t.” Macarena shifts closer to Rosa and both of them naturally cuddle their faces together. She is not tired at all, wide awake after the sudden pause in her long nap.

And Zulema answers it in her head because, _No. No, she doesn’t_.

Or maybe just a little bit, Zahir changes her mind the next day while she is having three clients and someone knocks onto the windows of the shop. After ignoring it for almost ten minutes and trying to get the best prices she excuses herself and rattlingly opens the door into rain mixed with snow.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Macarena is standing in the rain with a stroller covered in protection foil and is shivering in her dumb winter hat and grey coat.

“We went for the first walk and decided to visit you!” Macarena grins, her bottom teeth hitting the upper.

Zulema raises her eyebrow and that is all it takes for Macarena to drop her facade.

“Alright, alright,” She raises her hands up in the air. “I need money, we’ve run out of diapers.”

It’s sometimes hell with Ferreiro and Zulema is aware of it as she is watching her quickly make her way through the street with the money hidden in a pocket. She closes the door with a sigh and comes back to her clients.


	8. like she's just your understudy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! sorry to keep you so long without an update but i've been dealing with lot of bullshit lately.  
> but i'm back to writing and i hope i won't be having such a long break again.
> 
> some angst arrived hehe;D  
> please tell me what you think about it in the comments!  
> hope you enjoy
> 
> TW// abuse

“Do you think we could roll her down the stairs?”

“What? Who?” Macarena walks closer to the stairs and waits for Zulema to appear with Rosa in her arms. The brunette jumps stair by stair and faces Maca with a dangerous smile widening on her lips. She raises Rosa in her arms, “Her.”

“What? No! Zulema, give me Rosa back!” Macarena stretches her arms forward as if to catch the baby.

“But wouldn’t it be fun? Just imagine,” She chuckles and Rosa joins her, with that innocent voice of hers.

Honestly, Ferreiro can’t stand it. Rosa laughs every single time Zulema laughs and they appear to have the best of moments together. And then we have Macarena who can’t even put a smile on her daughter’s face most of the time.

Rosa started laughing a couple of days ago, after turning two months while she was in Zulema’s tight grip in front of the mirror in the bathroom. She was covered from head to toe in a big fluffy pink towel, held by Zulema who was also in towels, one tied around her body, the other thrown additionally on her arms to not expose her bare shoulders.

Macarena walked into the bathroom with a new set of pyjamas for Rosa; bought by Zulema, assuming by the black colour with the only element of orange imitating stripes of a tiger. However, she came to a halt and smiled at the view.

" _The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and, oh the night's so blue…_ " Zulema was rocking side to side, her head tilted towards Rosa's who was watching her attentively; every word she sang raspily. " _And then I go and spoil it all…_ "

" _By saying something stupid like-_ " Zulema stopped for a moment and raised on of her hands, stepping closer to the mirror. With her last words, she gently tapped the tip of Rosa's nose. " _I love you_."

Rosa's little mouth formed a smile, one so wide like Chesire's Cat and then she burst with laughter, a baby's innocent giggles.

This only took for Zulema to open her lips in surprise; after processing everything she also smiled and dared to touch her nose again, softly repeating the last words of the song.

And that's exactly how Rosa Ferreiro began to laugh and now it's her favourite activity, especially with Zulema.

"You're not rolling my daughter down the stairs, Zulema. She is not a burrito."

"She could be."

"I have no idea how we ended up having this conversation." Macarena sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Then, she reaches out for her and reluctantly Zulema hands her Rosa and passes them by on her way to the kitchen.

“What time are you leaving?” She is searching through the drawers for a lighter, irritated the longer it takes.

“I don’t really know if I’m going.” Macarena shrugs and falls onto the sofa, Rosa almost glued to her chest. They both look small, curled up together, Zulema sees as she finally finds the lighter and looks up.

“Then find out and tell me when I’m back.”

She leaves outside for a cigarette - she doesn’t do it home anymore as Macarena practically cries out for one and vents all the time. She would sit on the stairs of their block but remains of snow are covering them, so she rests her back on the wall and lights up the first cigarette.

Fucking _Rubia_.

There are two problems in her going out tonight.

First, she is utterly and completely irresponsible when drunk and she hasn’t had alcohol in over a year. And Zulema won’t be there to get her dumb ass together because she is not a bodyguard and she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t care how and when Macarena comes back safe home, yet there she is taking out next cigarette; the first one crashed into the concrete with her boot.

Secondly, Rosa. That’s where the argument ends.

But, no, truly, Zulema is terrified by staying alone with a two-month-old human being. By accidentally hurting her because she is so brilliant at it. Destroying people is her natural talent and for the first time in her life, she feels the weight of it so hardly; like it’s dawning bad news coming.

“Come back, I’ve decided!”

Zulema turns her head up and sees Macarena leaning out of the window from their apartment. She nods and rolls her eyes at the woman yelling out something more.

She silences at once and zones out from the TV show playing in the background when Macarena walks downstairs; she is wearing a tight black dress, showing every curve, each one more favourite for Zulema, with her boots reaching her knees, with a high heel.

"Zulema? Are you listening?"

The reality hits Zahir who shakes her head and then nods, realizing the question.

"I'm not sure about it. I mean, look at me," Maca waves her around her body, hanging onto the last stair, hesitating to go back upstairs and stay home in her sweatpants, eating another bowl of popcorn.

"Yep. Looking."

Slowly she raises and approaches Macarena, and it almost alarms her. The slow movement of a predator, however, it's only a pose and for Ferreiro, it's common knowledge by now.

They stand face to face, first time Macarena slightly taller. Her up-do falls apart as Zulema reaches behind her head and takes down the hairpin. "Now you can go,"

Macarena opens her mouth but resigns from whatever she wanted to say, brushing her fingers through her hair, waving at the ends.

"Do I pass the test now?" She asks after an awkward moment of silence.

"Barely," Zulema says, her voice stuck in her throat, stepping aside for Macarena to leave.

"Thanks."

 _She looks perfect_. Zulema kicks herself mentally when the words slip through her head and echo in it; she keeps her gaze steady on the blonde. She can not let her go alone in the middle of the night. Too many possibilities to happen and she won’t be there to watch over her.

This is _Rubia_ , for God’s sake. A grown woman.

Yet something changed for Zulema, in a moment of time which didn’t exactly belong to her but she still fell underneath the stream of emotions and ended up here. Cursing herself for becoming softer and for letting Macarena leave right now. For the first time in months, she feels such a need for someone to stay. To just don’t disappear. Because tomorrow morning she will wake up without Macarena by her side and it will turn out to be just a cruel joke of a sick mind and she’ll be once again with Mexicans.

~

It takes over an hour for Rosa to fall asleep, after laughing straight into Zulema’s face but nevertheless crying the loudest she is able to. Right now she is stretching her arms upwards, her little body almost completely fitting on Zulema’s pillow.

Feeling thoroughly drained, Zahir picks up all the toys they threw around just to get to the blessed state of sleep and changes into her own pyjamas and falls onto the bed next to the baby.

Moving through her sleep, Rosa catches her hands, ending with only an index finger to hold with all of her hand.

Zulema doesn’t dare to change her position and she just snuggles her face into the pillow and relaxes her body as much as she can. However, she is still ready for whatever can happen, so she can protect Rosa and herself.

She finds herself in that weird state between consciousness and sleep, where she is drifting up and down, once surfacing and hearing soft breaths of a baby next to her, just to dive right into the darkness, her brain leaving her alone for moments stretching to quarters. Her body is warm and the duvets are too and they smell like Macarena; her almond shampoo and baby powder and something chocolate.

Until the oblivious and blissful darkness becomes sickly white and she widens her eyes. She looks around to find what woke her up and then there are knocks on the door and giggles downstairs reaching her ears.

It’s surely Macarena but this is not a single voice. Without doubt.

The knife is placed in the shelf of the nightstand by her side of the bed and she slides it down the pocket of her trousers which she puts on quickly, heading to the source of the noise.

While she begins to walk the stairs, the door open widely - enough to hit the wall and bounce back hitting whoever is walking in. Then, they shut and someone hits them. Silence.

Zulema stops herself from jogging down and sneaks close to the wall until she enters the living room and finds the switch and lamps blind everyone.

Macarena.

With another woman, pressing her into the door and grinding on her, their lips connected. Maca’s boots are thrown onto the floor and her dress pulled up almost to her hips as the stranger caresses her thighs.

It takes them longer to realize someone else is in the room and when it happens and the unknown brunette turns around, Zulema grips the knife in her pocket so hard it leaves a red mark on her hand.

Ferreiro is far from sobriety when her eyes open and close several times to adjust to the harsh lighting. She is wearing that stupid, thoughtless smile on her lips; Zulema knows it from experience.

“Macarena, go to the kitchen right now. And you miss,” With an overwhelming pace, Zulema joins them by the door and confronts the stranger, her face in a grimace. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Zulema!”

Macarena takes a step towards her but Zahir pushes her away. Her legs tangle and she trips over the carpet, falling onto the couch.

“You, shut the fuck up. And please leave, right now,”

“Who the hell is this, Maca?” The woman asks, trying to pass by Zulema but she grabs the collar of her shirt, her other hand opening the door and throwing her out of the apartment.

She doesn’t care about the woman balancing on her legs, drunk as bad as blondie, just shuts the door and turns all the locks before facing Macarena who tries, without positive results, to stand up.

“Why did you do it? What was that, Zulema?!” Her voice is loud, reaching the neighbourhood for sure.

“Keep quieter.” She paces by the door, taking the knife and putting it onto the closest piece of furniture.

As she is standing back to Macarena, Ferreiro succeeds in keeping steady while raising. When she turns around, they are staring at each other. And she can’t look at that face with smudged red lipstick and mascara, with flushed face and hazy eyes. With hair tousled, ragged in places. With the memory of another person’s hands imprinted on all of her body.

It has to be exactly the moment she breaks her calm before the storm.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Zulema hisses out, her face leaning to Macarena, breathing coming out rigid and shallow.

“I could ask you the same,” Maca crosses her arms and her attitude just asks to be slapped over and over again.

“ _Callate_.”

The short break between them absorbs all the oxygen in the apartment.

“We have a two-month child in this house and you decide to bring an unknown woman just so you can fuck her!”

“She’s a friend of mine, I know her-”

“That’s not the fucking point.”

“So I’m supposed to not have a life at all and sit at home with a baby? I am your housewife, aren’t I?”

Zulema can’t decide if _Rubia_ has been this stupid always and tried to cover it up or is it the alcohol making her even dumber than usual. She sighs when Maca stares at her expectantly.

“What is it, Zule?”

That’s the line which crossing makes Zulema grab Macarena’s neck and hold her steady against the wall.

“Your lack of responsibility. You go out for the first fucking time in months and you get pathetically drunk and find the quickest way to get fucked by someone, your _friend_ ,” Zulema strengthens the hold with every word she spits out with venom.

She realizes it after the sentence and lets Macarena, whose face starts to turn white, go.

“What’s your problem with that?” “What’s my problem? Perhaps Rosa sleeping upstairs? Were you going to kick us out of the bedroom just so you two could have sex? Were you going to wake up your daughter with your fucking loud moans, just for the hell of your pleasure? Tell me where your brain is, Maca.”

“I-”

Zulema needs to end this conversation quickly before the pinching in her eyes turns into something else.

“Stay here. You’re sleeping on the couch. I don’t wanna see you near Rosa in this state,” She circumvents Macarena.

“It’s my child, you can’t tell me to do that!”

Zulema glances by her shoulder at Ferreiro one last time before starting to walk up the stairs. “Suddenly it’s your child? Think about the difference between your shitty actions and nothing-worth words. I don’t even wanna see you upstairs.”

She takes a step every two stairs and is next to the bathroom when the first tear escapes her eyes. It slowly rolls down her face and she licks it off when it’s by her upper lip, tasting the salt of her sorrow and rancour. Then, another one comes after it and another and another until she is lying next to Rosa, silently losing her heart out in all those tears.

Her face is wet by the time she finds sleep.

~

The kitchen and living room are too light to look at.

Macarena groans into a cushion, feeling her head pounding and spine hurting mercilessly after spending the night on the couch. Then, she realizes why she ended up this way and last night argument hits her like a bullet.

It hurts, even more, when Zulema starts to cook in the kitchen and bangs the pans, louder and more times than needed.

She opens her eyes, making a little cry of discomfort and shifts to a sitting position.

Zulema takes three eggs from the fridge and talks softly to Rosa lying in a rocker in the entrance to the kitchen. She is playing with rattles hanging above her, making more noise and smiling at the sounds.

It hits Macarena how dry is her throat when she tries to speak up but it ends up in coughing.

She approaches Rosa and kneels by the rocker, despite she feels each one of her muscles and organs dying slowly and begging for more rest.

The little girl’s mouth forms into even a bigger smile and she stretches out her arms to her mom.

“Hi, darling,” She kisses her forehead and rubs their noses together.

She is too unsure on her own legs to take Rosa into her arms and that brings even more fragments of words that fell from Zulema’s lips a few hours ago.

“Listen, about last night…” She begins at once before she has time to resign and be a coward.

“Save it. I don’t need to hear more from you.” Zulema keeps on making breakfast without even glancing at her.

One thing is sure - Macarena maybe gained some freedom, but lost so much more. And she has no idea how to name what exactly slipped between her fingers but it’s lost; she doesn’t know how to get it back.


	9. like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of rape and abuse
> 
> i just wanted to make one thing clear after the previous chapter: i don't support or romanticize abuse in any kind of relationship. i don't support what zulema did to macarena by grabbing her and i don't find that alright in any way. they are a toxic ship, that's the truth. i don't view them as healthy partners but this is part of fiction. this topic is gonna be touched in this chapter because i've never planned to leave that matter without continuation.
> 
> anyway, i hope you'll enjoy reading my fic!

Nights blend with days, despite the border between them is becoming more clear with the up-coming first day of spring.

Macarena falls into a pattern of disappearing with Rosa when Zulema has free days, taking a stroll down the streets of their neighbourhood. She fills the hours with softly speaking to her daughter, telling her tales of a scorpion on a desert miles away and Rosa giggles and stares at her like she is the Sun itself, stretching her chubby arms up and throwing her legs around until the blankets fall down and Maca has to cover her tightly once again.

Those afternoons, sometimes mornings, is what keeps her up most of the time. Rosa does with her innocent smile and pure love in her eyes. She doesn’t judge her for idiotic decisions; she just simply looks at her and loves her.

And love is what Macarena feels the lack of most.

It’s not like Zulema ever loved her; it’s not like she lost love from her that night but… It was nice, thinking someone cared and worried about her. And now she is lonely, all the fucking time, the chill of hatred and pity getting into her bones.

The apartment is quiet, most of the time, if not counting each of them talking to Rosa when she is awake, and it’s so unlike Zulema. Macarena waited for anger to appear on the surface again, for them to confront each other when both of them are sober but Zulema has disappeared, moving around the home, a book in hand, or keys of the car as she vanishes for a night.

So, Zulema hates her enough to not even talk about it. It feels like the worst punishment she ever got; she truly prefers screams and throwing plates. The silence is terrifying; reminds her of all the times she wasn’t as perfect as supposed to be and it yielded in quiet days when she studied harder, practised harder.

But right now, Ferreiro is older; old enough to know it’s bullshit and she shouldn’t fix herself. Or even if she had to, she was too lost to try. Too worn out.

Through one of those days when Zulema stays home, she asks if she could take care of Rosa and gets a nod as an answer. She visits the coffee shop where she used to work but resigns before entering.

A one more month with Rosa won’t hurt anyone, even more, their incomes as Zulema finds to have secret money hidden everywhere.

Rosa is sound asleep when Maca curls up on the couch in the living room, turning on the channel with paranormal unexplained series and eats her toasts. She feels a presence behind her almost immediately and is not surprised to see Zulema walk around the sofa and take a place on the opposite side.

The blonde curls up her toes nervously, and fills up her mouth, biting quickly. Yet, she almost chokes on it, hearing Zulema start a conversation of some kind.

“I’m sorry, Maca.”

She swallows her late-night snack and then, dares to look up at Zulema who is sitting cross-legged and keeps her eyes steady but they are almost… guilty and ashamed to face her.

“For what?” Macarena’s voice is almost emotionless as the shock turns into a cold calculation.

Zulema brushes a hand through her wet hair, clearly after a shower and gives up, glancing down while answering, “F-for that night… I mean, I still stand by my statement but-”

Ferreiro doesn’t move, staying put like a statue, just watches the brunette.

“I shouldn’t have touched you. I should’ve controlled myself, controlled my anger. There was no reason for me to choke you. Not a single one.” Zahir shakes her head, playing with her nails. She looks like a mortified child, afraid to admit to some mistake, Macarena observes and realizes.

“It’s alright, Zulema.” She says and feels it’s what she actually feels. She is not angry, nor afraid. Perhaps it’s because she remembers only a half of the night, in supercuts, but maybe because of their history and that she just knows Zulema like this. She remembers living with her two years of choice, and many years before by fate.

What she doesn’t recognize is Zulema apologizing.

“It is not,” Zulema fights back, firmly, finally looking up and finding Macarena moved a little bit closer. “I’m still mad at you, nothing changed. But it doesn’t make my… my mistake, my action any more acceptable. There is no explanation for what I did, I can’t justify it.”

“Listen, I barely remember anyway,” Macarena shrugs, putting her plate from her lap aside.

“I promised to protect you and I failed. Even more, I’m the one who hurt you.”

“You promised? What?” Zulema becomes aware of what slipped between her lips through her eager tongue and freezes in place. She is looking like a deer caught in headlights, not changing her position even for an inch.

“Nevermind.” She hisses, more at herself than Macarena.

“But, _Rubia_ , I apologize… I really do.”

She stands up to prepare hot tea in the kitchen and for a while Macarena stays silent, trying to process whatever happened a moment before. What has changed. Why Zulema apologized and what exactly it means. Right now, nothing because she does not understand at all.

“Zulema,” The name rolls down her tongue before re-thinking if she even has something to say. But she does, of course, she does. Right words find themself in the chaos of her mind.

“We both made mistakes, quite terrible. It’s… a shared bad night, can we say? And I-” It’s not an option for her to say she’s sorry because she is not. “Let’s just get past it. _Vale_?”

“ _Vale_.”

For a couple more minutes she watches Zahir move around the kitchen in the dim light of a little lamp in the living room but turns down the TV quickly and tip-toes on the stairs to find Rosa turned upside down on the bed. She rolls her over, the most delicate she is able to and almost peacefully, she falls asleep next to her daughter.

Yes, she still has her nightmares but that night she is not fighting off them alone, feeling a presence of someone by her side, yelling out curses.

~

It’s a slow process of coming back to their everyday domesticity. At least for Zulema.

Macarena can tell it’s her quiet form of punishing herself, by staying late outdoor and keeping herself away from Maca and Rosa, just to feel pain. And after more than a decade, Ferreiro knows there’s nothing to be done with it; even more, she’s learned it’s pointless to sacrifice herself for someone who won’t even notice her trying.

Yet, there are nights when they fall asleep side by side. Zulema is stretched, lying on her back with hands underneath her head, which is tilted to one of the sides, depends on the night and the way gravity is pulling her; if Rosa isn’t sleeping with them, Macarena is curled up, facing Zulema, legs bent in knees and palms of her hands supporting her heavy head. And they wake up entangled.

The first time it happens, Zahir is paralyzed. She feels hand thrown around her waist and soft breathing in her neck, legs exactly behind hers. Escaping the embrace without waking up Macarena isn’t much of an achievement, quite frankly, as the blonde is almost impossible to be arisen by someone.

But it happens again. And again. To the point where Zulema is too exhausted to leave the bed before the hour she usually does just because of _puta Rubia_ who can’t stick to the left side of the bed, where her place is.

And it’s worth - staying. When the day comes with Macarena waking up and still holding Zulema in her arms, she is completely dumbfounded and stops breathing for a second. And then, jumps out with the silliest embarrassed face expression, stumbling over her own legs towards the cradle.

Zulema cannot always tell if it’s a dream or reality, but one specific night she doesn’t even have time to be in that phase.

Her eyes snap open when Macarena starts to shake her arm violently and whisper.

“Zulema, wake up! I don’t know where your phone is,” Her voice is sleepy but also annoyed.

“What do you need it for?” Zulema murmurs into the pillow, trying to get Ferreiro’s hand from her arm and disappear under the duvets.

“It’s ringing!”

And yes, surprisingly, she is right and Zulema notices the melody of her ringtone playing somewhere in the room.

“It’s going to wake Rosa up,” Macarena pushes her out of the bed, harshly but her hands thankfully are weak in the middle of the night and it does nothing to Zulema.

The phone turns out to be under the nightstand, its screen lightened up and she slides her finger left before she even reads the number.

“ _Si_?” She answers, leaving the bedroom. Her voice is still hoarse from sleep and not entirely woken up.

“Still in Spain, Zahir.”

Her whole body tenses and the phone almost falls out of her hands. Her throat is dry and her mind is blank, no words, no sentences to answer.

“Never saw you as an apartment kind of woman. More like a villa in a rich neighbourhood, thriving on stolen gold,” The voice is exactly how Zulema remembers it; arrogant, commanding and confident, the way only a man with way too big ego can have. “There’s still some gold stuck between us-”

She stops listening and doesn’t even bother to hang up, just throws the device onto the floor and storms back into the bedroom. She opens the wardrobe, trashing their clothes around and ignoring Macarena’s questions behind her back, until she finds her favourite box and pulls out a gun, unlocking it.

“What the hell are you doing?” Macarena hisses and without an invitation runs after Zulema who is already on the stairs, almost reaching the living room.

Zahir peeks out the window through the curtains and checks the gun once again before stepping towards the door. Macarena rushes after her and catches her before opening the lock, pulling her back and making Zulema face her.

Her face is paperwhite with animal fear in her eyes, she is barely holding the gun.

Macarena softly unfolds her fingers and takes it out, putting it further from them, on the coffee table, then she comes back to Zulema standing as she did before.

“Zulema, what happened?”

It comes in flashes.

Two men, one whose voice she’s heard this night, holding her hands above her head on the cold tiles, the other hovering over her. Burns on her wrists and neck. Agonizing yells coming out of her own mouth.

Her whole body starts to feel so far away, yet she feels the itching on her skin that she wants to scratch until it ceases. Until she is not herself anymore.

Somehow, she lands outside her body because she can’t speak up, can’t move her lips and can’t focus her eyes on the face in front of her. She is back with her mind once they are sitting on the floor, not cold and not panelled with tiles and Macarena is nervously biting her cuticles, kneeling and slightly leaning towards Zulema.

“Could you take my hand for a moment?”

Ferreiro widens her eyes at the request but nods and quickly adds, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She holds Zulema’s hand in her lap, her thumb gently stroking her palm and they spend a quarter, or perhaps half an hours positioned like this, lost but in each other’s company what feels less lonely.

“Who called you?” Macarena asks, her voice louder than before, sounding tough in the hours before the dawn, in the darkest night.

“Someone I didn’t want to hear from.”

_As if it wasn’t clear_ , Macarena sighs and notices Zulema’s eyes becoming heavier and heavier. She pulls her gently towards the sofa and soon, she is covered with a blanket and dozing off, so easy and fast it’s a true surprise for Macarena.

She hasn’t seen Zulema so tired and in such a distressed state… Probably never. Not that bad.

Just when she decides to leave the brunette alone, the rays of sunshine pierce through the windows of their kitchen and wild laughter, soon turning into cries resound from upstairs.

It’s middle of the midday when Zulema wakes up to a sight of Macarena walking around with Rosa in her arms and throwing her up in the air. Both of them are laughing out loud, spinning by the windows and looking at each other. It tugs something in Zulema’s heart.

“Let’s go,” She says and sits up, bringing attention to herself, not really presentative - her hair is a mess, bangs stick in every side possible and her eyes have dark circles under. “We’re going on a trip.”

“Where?” Macarena stops and both of blondes stare at her like she appeared out of nowhere. Their eyes have the same confused glance and Zulema smirks at the sight.

“To aunt Saray,” She jumps from the couch and gestures for them to follow her upstairs. “C’mon, we gotta pack.”

“Don’t you think I won’t find out what all of this is about,” Macarena points at Zulema, already behind her and sticks her finger into her ribs.

Zahir turns with a pout, “I wouldn’t even dare to think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me in the comments what you think will happen! would love to read it


	10. second, third and hundredth chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of abuse and rape
> 
> hi! i'm back after a month and i'm sorry for such a long break:(  
> today's chapter is a little bit longer to make up for it and hope you will enjoy it!  
> please tell me in the comments if you like it

Zulema can’t tell how she let herself end up in the backseat, trying to stop Rosa crying. She walked to the petrol station to buy some sweets and water and when she came back Macarena was already sitting behind the steering wheel, pointing behind her.

“I am the driver, _Rubia_.”

“Please, Zulema, I’m too tired.” Macarena sighed. “And she adores you.”

Well, it turns out not really, at least when they are in a vehicle.

Eventually, Zahir takes Rosa out of the car seat and hugs her, the little girl sitting on her lap as they slowly rock side to side and Zulema whispers something into her ear and pokes Macarena in front of them.

It makes Rosa smile a little bit at her mom’s squeals while she proceeds to drive straight, GPS on the passenger seat where she glances from time to time.

The ride is not too long; takes up around two hours however it’s a drive definitely too long for Rosa who moves around in Zulema’s arms and tries her best to just fall out of her arms or pull the handle and open their car. Just before finding the right address, they fall asleep cuddled together; Zulema stretches her legs on the backseat and Rosa is tightly put to her chest.

Macarena parks in front of a yellow house and turns off the engine, “Is it here, Zulema?”

When no answer comes, she glances back and sees them sleeping peacefully.

“As if you could not be like this the whole journey,” She sighs but can’t stop staring at them.

She almost jumps out of her skin when someone starts knocking on the window. She turns to see Saray’s surprised face.

With little help, she leaves the car and quietly shuts the door.

“What are you doing here?” Saray greets her.

“Nice to see you, too,” Macarena grimly smiles but then points at Zulema lying in the vehicle. “She’s got some business to you and she brought us with her.”

“Us?” Then Vargas’ eyes light up and she crouches slightly to glance inside. “This must be Rosa!”

“Yeah.”

Saray observes her sister with the child for a moment in silence, a grin stretching on her face, one so honest and wide. After a while, she turns back to Macarena, still with the smile.

“She’s completely in love with her,” Her voice is gentle, the exact way it always turned in the prison when she talked about Zulema.

“She is,” Macarena agrees, also glimpsing into the back of the car. “And Rosa feels exactly the same.”

And she doesn’t realize but Rosa isn’t the only Ferreiro who feels that way. However, the very idea doesn’t even appear in her head, something so ridiculous and unbelievable she wouldn’t even think about it.

~

They end up waking up Zulema who reluctantly lets them take Rosa from her arms and bring into the warm house. She follows them, with sleep slowly wearing off and the reason she is here dawns on her.

The house is familiar, of course, but seeing Macarena and Rosa there walking around the kitchen as Ferreiro is preparing milk looks quite surreal. Like two worlds colliding and Zulema can’t really tell if she finds it positive or negative. She is looking for a moment to catch Saray alone but then suddenly loud noise resounds upstairs, like jumping and music drums through the whole house. It wakes up Rosa, crying and stressed.

Saray growls and speeds towards the stairs, “Estrella is home for the week,” She explains before running to silence her daughter.

Zulema’s eyes light up at the information and she stops herself from asking about the teenage girl, just turns back to the kitchen and sits down by the table.

She is watching Macarena’s precisive moves before she puts the bottle into Rosa’s mouth and they are blessed with silence.

“So, Estrella is here?”

“Yeah,” Zulema says, realizing Maca wants her to explain after a while as the blonde keeps staring at her.

God, how sometimes she hated those eyes. _Just stop looking at me_ , internally she screamed, _stop trying to read me_.

“Saray changes with her adoptive parents every week, or so,” Zulema doesn’t return the glance anymore, but _Rubia_ keeps burning her up with her eyes.

Thankfully, Saray is soon back and the music plays slightly quieter; dancing doesn’t stop and above them, footsteps are still audible.

“She will come downstairs later to say hello,” Saray takes a seat next to Zulema and raises her right leg to throw it over Zahir’s lap; the other woman only rolls her eyes at this.“So! When will I get my car back?”

“We can give you with a bonus even,” Zulema grins.

“What bonus?” Saray leans in, elbows on the table.

“Rosa.”

“Stop trying to sell ou- my daughter, Zulema!” Macarena yells out and shows her middle finger to the brunette. Rosa squints her eyes at that and starts giggling, trying to catch her mom’s finger.

Zulema smiles at her and throws out her tongue what makes Rosa laugh even louder. With all of her will, she ignores the look Saray is sending. The one that is an omen for an unpleasant conversation, about her goddamn feelings but - what feelings? What are feelings exactly? Saray is definitely not a philosopher to talk about it. And, besides, there are no feelings (not to admit, at least).

That’s when she decides to catch a perfect opportunity to disappear.

She gets up and gently pulls Rosa from Macarena, “I’m gonna show her around the house and annoy Estrella,” She raises her arms and makes an aeroplane sounds, flying the girl around while she can’t stop laughing.

While Zulema decides to leave them, Macarena and Saray end up sitting in the living room with some drama playing in the background. The small talk is all nice until Saray snaps.

“Are you with her because of the circumstances?”

Macarena’s eyes open widely as she turns her head to face to Saray who is sitting at the table, scribbling something on a newspaper.

“What?”

“Are you with Zulema out of circumstances? Because it’s easier to take care of a child with help?” Saray has that one corner of her mouth raised, not with a smile but grimace. She is looking at her, glancing from underneath her eyebrows.

“What in hell, are you talking about?” Macarena slowly raises from the couch.

“Are you using her? Why are you with her?” Saray asks with anger, but still on her seat.

“What the fuck? It was a mutual decision to stay living together, I didn’t make her do it! Besides, we both know it’s impossible to bring Zulema to do something without her will. How am I supposed to be using her?”

“I just don’t understand. You two hated each other, you hated Zulema with everything you had! Why are you staying with her now?” Vargas hits her hand on the surface and throws away the newspaper.

“Perhaps for the same reason you’ve been friends with her all these years!”

A heavy silence falls over the room. Macarena is now panting, her chest rising with all the anger of accusations which leaves her in the yell of protest. She is not aware of what she is saying until the words are thrown into the air, hanging between them; she doesn’t know exactly what it means yet but Saray seems to find the truth in it.

She clears her throat before continuing as the previous words haven’t happened, “She loves Rosa, as I do. We keep a house together, the same you helped us move into. It’s been months. What do these questions mean?”

That’s when Saray also gets up, facing Macarena and towering over. Maca, however, doesn’t even take a step back.

“I want to know what you feel, _puta_.”

“I- I am so confused I can’t even put it into words,” Macarena scrunches her nose.

It hits her a second later and her face drops.

“Jesus, Saray. You think we are fucking.”

Saray only nods, tangling her hands on her chest.

“It’s none of your business, even if we did!” Macarena bursts into Saray’s personal space, face to face. “Why don’t you trust me with her?”

Vargas starts to laugh, “Oh, tell me reasons to do.”

“Well, she does,” Macarena says, her voice finally softer when she starts thinking about the life she has. “You know when she sleeps well and barely has nightmares? When I’m next to her, under the same covers. You know she texts me every damn day when she is at work just to ask how am I under cover of insults? Do you know she forgives me every time I fuck up even though I don’t deserve it? Or do you know when she starts to shake because of things I can’t ask about it’s my hand she holds to cease it? It’s me she let in tonight because of someone calling her who scared her shitless.”

By the time she finishes, her voice completely soothes and heart calms down. Yet, it seems to alarm Saray.

“Who called her?” She stutters while processing everything Macarena said.

“She didn’t tell me and I’m guessing that’s why we’re here.”

She pushes Ferreiro out of her way, “Zulema! Where are you?”

As Saray rushes out of the room, Macarena runs behind her. She doesn’t really know why she is running after her but she also starts to call out after Zulema and she appears with a frown on her face from the bathroom; Rosa is holding Saray’s perfume and shakes it.

“ _Qué_?”

“Who called you?”

Macarena is standing behind Saray’s right arm and that’s exactly where Zulema’s eyes fall, her face revealed with vulnerability and some kind of sorrow. Saray snaps her fingers to bring both of them back, but only Rosa notices the new sound for her.

“Not now, _gitana_ ,” Zulema says with gritted teeth.

Saray throws her hands in the air, “If not now, then when?”

“Rosa is the only person keeping me from throwing you against the table and beating the shit out of you, so please, shut the fuck up,” Her voice calms down and she passes them by, Rosa hugging her chest and her face popping up above her shoulder as she watches her mom and aunt still standing in the same place.

~

Later that night, Zulema leaves the bedroom seemingly silent and unnoticed. But Macarena turns to face the door the moment they quietly shut. She waits a couple of minutes, putting pillows around Rosa to make sure she doesn’t fall off the bed.

She puts on the hoodie Zulema took from their house and throws it on, covering her body till the mid-thighs.

In the night light, Saray’s house looks mysterious but doesn’t alarm her. It’s that kind of clandestinity which looks and feels familiar, the one where you touch the walls and stop to analyze every photograph on the wall. Despite it’s quite modern, there are still elements showing how long the history of the house must be; definitely longer than any of them spend alive. She follows the voices down the stairs, taking step by step, slower the closer she gets. The living room is just around the corner, so close it’s probable they could see her if she tried to move down the stairs and further into the hall.

But Macarena does it anyway and finds a place in the shadow where the fireplace’s light doesn’t reach her. She sees Zulema sitting on the couch with her legs thrown onto the coffee table. Saray is standing by the said fireplace and booting something into the fire.

Her head turns to Zulema and seeing her facial expression, something drops in Ferreiro’s stomach.

“But you shot him,” Saray’s voice never hidden any of her emotions and this time is no different. She sounds terrified but there is anger there, too.

“I did.”

Zulema puts her feet down and rests her elbows on her thighs, leaning forward and just then looking up.

“But I didn’t kill him,” She quietly says. Regretfully.

“It was his fucking chest!” Saray exclaims and gets a shush from Zulema.

“I was sure. I am. But not every shot is deadly,” Zulema admits and rolls her eyes which start to look like a mirror just before breaking. “And I’d recognize Ramala’s voice everywhere after those months, Saray.”

Macarena’s heart stops for a second hearing the familiar name. She is sure if she was holding something, she would drop it this moment; all her fears and suspicions are confirmed as the next words fall from Saray’s mouth.

“So he knows where you are?”

Zulema stays quiet for a short moment, fidgeting with her thumbs and cutting the eye contact.

“He knew,” She hides her face in hands. “That’s why I brought them here, so I can investigate it on my own.”

Saray turns to talk some sense into her and that’s exactly when her eyes shot up and meet Macarena’s.

The blonde stills, despite one part of her wanted to be seen, to be noticed. Wanted to finally know the truth not from somebody else and not from other source but from Zulema. She had enough of being played like a child. Perhaps she acted like one sometimes but it gave rights to no one to treat her like that.

“I’m not sure if that will be possible,” Saray says and leaves Zulema on the couch, heading towards Macarena.

Her eyes are softer than they were before after they argued. She tilts her head towards Zahir and nods after. Then she adds, already behind Maca, “Nice outfit.”

And there it is, another reason why Saray surely won’t believe they’re not sleeping together.

Macarena deeply inhales and that little sound is all it takes for Zulema to recognize who is entering the room. She raises her head, her eyes almost looking resigned to see the blonde.

“Spying on me now, huh?”

“It’s not- I-”

“You had to find out eventually,” Zulema shrugs and brings a bitter smile on her face. “You’re not _that_ dumb.”

Macarena catches herself from answering because it’s a simple way to distract her. She knows Scorpion’s ways too well to fall into it this time.

“Ramala’s after you?” She sits down on the sofa, enough space left between both of them, despite she wants to be closer.

“Well, you heard everything.”

“Zulema… What has he done?” Macarena asks, persistent as her stubbornness gets the best of her. This time she needs to know, she has to know. No secrets between them. “I’ve never seen you as afraid as last night.”

“Oh, him? He did nothing in particular, quite frankly. I saw him maybe twice or three times,” Zulema says nonchalantly, her arm moving onto the back of the couch and she pulls one of her legs onto the couch, turning towards Macarena. “He had his men to do everything. Animals. Rapists.”

Her face drops, all façade fades away as she is rewinding memories through her head.

“It was hell,” She murmurs, rubbing her face. “Worse than prison, because it was a prison but no rules. It’s not like in prison there are rules but… That wasn’t like that. It was worse.”

“How long were you there?” Macarena’s question is nothing more than a subtle whisper.

“Three months.”

It’s a voice of a hurt child; a screech of a shot animal; raindrops hitting the pavement after escaping the sky torn apart.

“Why did you stay? You should’ve run away.”

Zulema’s eyes soften, “How do you think?”

They are still two sides of the same coin. Being separated has never been an option.

Macarena moves closer and tries to smile reassuringly, “Can I hug you?”

It attacks Zulma more than any hit ever could but she breaks through; a soft nod and that’s when she feels Ferreiro’s body embracing her.

Maca moves slowly and delicately as she puts her arms around her waist and her grip tightens a little when she feels Zulema’s muscle lose the tension. Zulema raises her arms to her neck and hides her face there, too.

She sticks to the warmth Macarena emanates and for a moment she sees something from years ago; the laundry room and both of them saying goodbye, being stabbed in the back. But this time she stays in Ferreiro’s arms without anyone hitting her with an iron, she stays safe. And it’s that kind of safety she hates because when a person becomes that place to hide, it’s the easiest to lose it.

“Let’s go to sleep, _vale_?” Macarena mumbles. She takes in the scent of Zulema’s hair as they tingle her nose. “And we will talk about what we’re going to do in the morning.”

“More like what I’m going to do but go on,” Zulema moves back with a pout, something so often on her face.

“Let’s go. You’re cold,” Maca rolls her eyes and pulls her sleeve and they go arm in arm to the guest room.


	11. balancin' on breaking branches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the most unedited chapter ever. i have no idea what's happening there.   
> mix of family stuff plus zurena not dealing with their feelings??  
> anyways, hope you enjoy

“I’m doing this alone!”

The morning began just like this.

Or maybe not - it began with Zulema and Macarena curled up on the same bed, spooning Rosa from both sides and their heads touching above the baby. It began with quiet movements of Zulema escaping that domestic scene and cursing herself for yesterday’s happening; swearing as Macarena’s arms still lingered on her skin despite it’s been hours and she hasn’t been touched by her after the hug. It started with soft footsteps down the hallway and gentle knocking on Estrella’s door.

“Come in!” The girl called out and Zulema did as she was told.

She was standing in front of the mirror, fixing her hair and she widened her eyes when she glanced through the mirror who is standing in the door.

“You really came?”

“Well, I am here,” Zahir opened her arms and shrugged.

When the heavy body hit her, she took a few steps back and closed the embrace around Estrella.

“I missed you,” The girl mumbled, almost reaching her height, Zulema realized. “I heard you came by a few months ago but we passed each other by! And mom said she didn’t know when you will come back again.”

“I brought some company,” Zulema was wearing a smug smile on her face when they parted and Estrella raised her eyebrow at that.

“Mom’s car perhaps?”

Zulema’s hands fell down and she rolled her eyes and heavily sighed, “I truly don’t know why you and Saray care about that old piece of crap so much.”

They moved to the kitchen and continued their conversation while both of them were tiptoeing around the room, one making some sensible breakfast, the other surviving on espresso made miraculously by Saray’s robot which she craved to steal. Maca didn’t let them buy one when she was pregnant because she thought _it would be unfair_ and by now there were more important issues to discuss and arrange. So they ended up not buying it even when Macarena drank coffee again and Zulema was painfully reminded of it when her expresso was already prepared.

“ _Tia Maca_?” Estrella asked, scrambled eggs filling up her mouth. She sat down on the table with the plate in her hands. “And who is that?”

All Zulema could think of is Saray would kill her daughter sitting like that. And then, she would try to kill Zule, unsuccessfully because she was too dumb and weak for that.

“Well, she is… _a friend_.”

This time Estrella’s eyebrows almost shot up all the way to her hairline. She stretched her face in a grin and it makes her face look identical like her parent’s.

“You don’t look like she’s _a friend_ ,” She giggled.

Zulema let her bottom lip fall down, leaving herself gaping; her eyes straight on Estrella who kept laughing.

“More precisely, she is something between a friend and an enemy,” She collected herself back, surprised by being so vulnerable in front of the girl. She just reminded her of Saray so bad, with her noble nose and long dark hair she pinned up into a ponytail. That girl just looked like safety because of her reminiscences of Zulema’s best friend.

But right now Estrella is sent upstairs with Rosa to play with her, what she agreed to enthusiastically and Zulema is sitting on the couch, almost laying and ignoring Macarena and Saray standing above her.

“It’s dangerous.”

They tell her that for the fifth time like she doesn’t know it.

Like she isn’t shaking deep down in her bones at the very thought of facing Ramala again. In this world, she’s seen a lot and she’s felt even more - most of it left her horribly shaken to the core what she couldn’t show and still doesn’t do it. At least she tries. It’s eating her alive every night as she curls up on the bed; she sees behind her closed eyelids every face that ruined her; her mother, Hanbal, Fatima. They’re always there, never leaving her mind. Their ghosts keep on haunting her and sometimes they get so loud when she focuses on them, she can’t gather her thoughts; nor bring herself back to reality.

She sees her mother the day she sold her to that fucking old man, she can see it underneath her veil, then she feels Hanbal’s kisses and how he is pulling her hand to run. It is all chaotic and messy when Fatima suddenly is lying on the ground next to them, blood around her. She wants to stop running and fall next to her daughter.

“Zulema?”

That’s the only thing keeping her afloat; giving her sanity back.

Macarena is sitting on the coffee table, leaning to look at her. Her eyes scan Zulema’s face cautiously and those sharp eyes are what stops her from drowning in her own head.

“It’s as dangerous as well as me staying here,” Zulema shrugs and escapes the eye contact with Ferreiro. She glances up at Saray. “They can get me wherever they want. I need to be faster than them.”

Silence falls in the room and each one of them seems to be lost in thoughts. Until Macarena gets up, pacing around the room and turns back to other women.

“Take me with you,” She says.

As a result, she finds startled Saray and Zulema who is already getting up but Vargas pushes her back onto the sofa.

“Not a chance,” Zulema answers quickly, almost growling.

“Well either of us has to go and surely not Saray,” Macarena shrugs and comes back to her place on the coffee table.

“I can’t leave now, Zule,” Saray agrees.

“Oh, I didn’t expect that, I don’t expect _anyone_ to accompany me.”

“We used to be partners in crime, what changed now?”

Zulema looks at Macarena like it’s the most stupid thing she’s heard in her life. She can’t stop glaring and her heart almost bursts out. _I can’t take you because this time it’s not worth losing you. I can’t take you because there’s Rosa who needs you. I can’t take you because I won’t bear the weight of watching you die if something goes wrong. You fucking dumb Rubia. Everything has changed._

“Well, for example, your pregnancy. You’re not in shape, for God’s sake. And you’re willing to leave Rosa alone?” She snaps, leaning forward.

“She wouldn’t be alone,” Macarena argues, her voice staying moduled. “She would be with Saray.”

“With me?” Saray almost cries out at the information.

Macarena looks at her and raises her eyebrows. Saray seems to be struggling internally but she finally nods and her shoulders drop, “Yeah, with me.”

“Well, you can stay here arguing about _shit_ because I’m going alone.”

Zulema flees with that. She is by the door the moment she decides to move back and take Rosa with her. She dresses her up, chuckling involuntarily when the girl’s wriggling her legs and arms; she is such a tiny creature and Zulema can feel herself slipping even further under her spell.

Before leaving she asks Estrella to inform Maca and Saray if they happen to stop their nonsense, she left for a walk.

They didn’t take stroller so she settles on holding her and that’s when she can steps outside, closing the door quietly.

As April is closer, a matter of days now, everything starts to grow and the Sun is higher on the sky. The vision of warmer days is nice; she’s never enjoyed winter, aside for Christmas, no matter how gentle it happened to be. When the wind hits her, she turns Rosa to snuggle face into her bomber jacket and inhales deeply the fresh air.

If she focuses enough, she can taste freedom in that breeze, swirling around her and filling up her senses.

They end up close to a stream, five minutes walk away from Saray’s house.  
Zulema doesn’t have any hesitation about perching on cold rocks by the flow and Rosa sits on her lap, she puts her arms around her. When the child cries out, Zulema hands her a little rock without thinking and watches the girl’s fascination. Soon it’s discarded down on the ground and cries resound again.

They play the game over and over with Rosa giggling happily while waving the rock (once hitting Zulema’s face with it) and then, dropping it and starting to make a fuss and crying if Zahir is not quick enough to pick up.

“You’re not the nicest today, right, little one?” She chuckles when Rosa starts to wiggle more and starts to reach her hands towards the water. “No, we’re not going swimming.”

But she gives in after a minute or two and wets her own hands to touch Rosa’s little hands with it. She squirms in excitement and distracted just like that, Zulema is able to walk away from the stream and have content moment before the girl realizes they are going home.

They spend a while, taking a stroll around Saray’s garden, which to be honest isn’t the richest. Zulema is obligated to show Rosa every flower already coming out of the ground until it gets colder and she carries her back home to find her senses filling up with the smell of cooking food.

Macarena catches her right away by the door and snatches the child from her hands.

“It’s well past her feeding time!”

Zulema makes a face, “Oh shit, sorry.”

The blonde sends her a dirty look, clearly still upset from their earlier encounter in the living room.

“By the time Rosa is two, she will swear like a sailor,” Saray chuckles, mixing something on a pan.

Estrella hands her some spices and grins back to see Rosa in Macarena’s arms. Zulema is following them, her mood growing worse without her girl in her arms.

“Can I feed her?” Younger Vargas flashes a pretty smile to Maca.

Ferreiro nods and carefully places the girl in Estrella’s arms and hands her the bottle with warm milk.

She can help but smile when she sees Zulema eyeing the girl to see if everything’s alright.

“Since when you got so overprotective?” Macarena whispers as she passes her by to take plates Saray asked her to put onto the kitchen table.

“From the moment you stopped caring for your daughter enough.”

Macarena chuckles at the pout she receives.

They finally sit by the table, all four of them to eat dinner together and Zulema can’t remember the last time she did something like this.

At home, meals are usually in the free moment of time when Rosa isn’t fussing and it’s a rare occasion to find them together on the couch with a meal. That day, however, Rosa falls asleep after her bottle and they make a fort of pillows and cushions she lies in, on the warm fluffy blanket in the living room.

It’s not hard to notice Zulema’s silence. Deep in her thoughts, she is trying to remember every fragment of this moment. Just in case…

In case she doesn’t get to live through ones like this again. Just to make sure to remember and be remembered.

~

The porch on the back of the house is the favourite place for Zulema.

Perhaps it’s the sentimental person in her who brings her there. She is curled up on the wicker armchair with a cigarette in hand. It’s shaking slightly if someone’s eyes lingered a little bit longer to notice.

She is remembering those weeks she spent here, not being able to fall asleep. She didn’t want to hear her own screams in the nightmares occurring every single night, so she stayed awake until her body couldn’t take it. She drank coffee, unhealthy amounts of it and stared at the dawn. Routine she gained that lead her to passing out and Saray not letting her leave the bed for two days.

Zulema still can recollect all the dreams because some of them stayed with her, shaking up her to the core. What changed, she doesn’t scream every time she awakens.

The windows behind her let out a little light on the porch and she can see maybe a couple of meters ahead, the shadows are playing with her sight. There is a strange heaviness on her chest, at the thought of leaving it all behind. It’s not like she can escape what’s coming. She’s never been one to fear and to try to hide from obstacles. And this time, family, having one, doesn’t change it.

Of course, she senses her presence before Macarena steps towards her.

“It’s pleasant out here,” She says and can just _imagine_ the surprise on Ferreiro’s face.

But it is truly pleasant because the wind changed within the first days of spring. She can sense it with every breath. Yes, it’s still cold but there’s this certain whiff in the air of warmer days coming.

“But not as pleasant as at our place.”

The backdoor closes.

“Impossible to argue with that,” Zulema nods and ash falls down onto the floor.

Macarena is wearing a beige cardigan with a combination of different patterns and she tightens it around herself when she sits on a wicker bench, in the same style of Zulema’s armchair. She pulls her knees under her chin and after a moment steals cigarette from Zahir’s mouth.

“We have to fix Rosa’s crib when we come back,” She says while exhaling. “I broke something.”

“So you’re gonna take care of it,” Zulema takes her cigarette back and tries to not think Macarena’s lips were around it seconds before.

“But you are the best at putting furniture together,” Macarena laughs out, not even trying to hide it.

When Zulema glares at her right she finds Macarena already looking at her with a smirk ghosting on her lips.

“ _Ha ha_. Hilarious, Maca.”

There is an untouched topic hanging between them, and they both push it back. It’s like a pendulum going back and forth and it feels like its way cannot be altered. At least that’s how Macarena and Zulema are trying to convince themselves.

“I am t-”

“Listen, I-”

They fall silent again, uncomfortable with all those unsaid things and questions.

Finally, when Macarena doesn’t try to speak up again, Zulema turns her head to look in front of her at the darkness and at another house which must be somewhere ahead of them, behind Saray’s house’s fence.

“Listen, I’ve left money on the highest shelf in the kitchen. If something happens and I don’t come back…”

“But nothing will happen,” Macarena cuts in, harshly.

“So I hope,” Zulema simply says to get Macarena off the path to arguing. But they aren’t and never been good at conversations, after all. “But… I know I’ve never been the best at all of this. I tried. I really did. For Rosa and for you, too. I wouldn’t exchange past months for anything else, no matter how many sleepless nights it costed me. You let me be a part of your daughter’s life, with no questions asked.”

“Stop it.”

Macarena is also staring ahead and the nothingness.

It almost feels unnatural. They spent most of their time staring at each other, as enemies reading what the other one is trying to achieve and observing every step they were taking. Everything else was just a blur behind them. And now they are trying to learn to walk the same path what involves not investigating each other’s move every several meters. And tonight feels like a milestone.

“Shush, _Rubia_. Let me talk while I breathe.”

“You’re saying goodbye! Stop. Don’t.”

“Maca-”

“No. I don’t even wanna hear it.”

“There are things-”

“You’re part of her life now. You have a child to come back, do you understand?” Her voice is shaking and withering, like the air around them. Zulema can feel that weight on her chest getting heavier with every word. “There is a little girl you’re rising. You’ve become her parent. You’re her other mother, no matter how much I don’t like sharing my baby. And there isn’t even _an option_ you don’t plan on coming back.”

Ferreiro gets up, loudly moving the bench. Of course, the dramatics of her. She is a quick learner from Zulema. Who, actually, also gets up and catches her wrist.

“It can end badly. Let’s not part like that,” She says softly, almost in a whisper.

“Call me foolish but I believe you’ll come home,” Macarena lowers her voice as well.

Zulema lets out a gentle chuckle, “You used to be quite a believer.” _Until prison broke you_. “Is that part of you coming back?”

“You shall see. Only if you’re back home in a few days.”

But it’s a quiet begging, so quiet only Macarena hears its poor echo in her head: _I can’t lose you_.

~

In the morning, Macarena hears Zulema picking up her things and packing. She tries to ignore the nerves when she realizes what is going to happen later.

Zulema breaks into Estrella’s bedroom where the girl is still asleep and places a kiss on top of her goddaughter’s head, escaping quickly before she can wake up.

Saray is downstairs with toasts and coffee packed for lunch. She looks too calm, like it’s not Zulema leaving to face men who tortured her, all alone. That’s the first suspicious thing Zulema can spot.

“Take care, _gitana_ ,” She says when they hug. She is trying to remember the smell of that house and Saray’s hair.

What got her lost the most during the months she spent locked up by Mexicans was lack of memories, physical ones. She couldn’t bring herself to remember how Macarena’s touch felt and how her voice sounded or how she smelled right after washing her hair.

This time, she doesn’t plan to make the same mistakes.

Macarena walks downstairs by the time she is already outside, throwing things into the backseat of the car. Rosa in her hands and Zulema groans at the sight.

The exact reason why she wanted to leave unnoticed. Just to make it easier.

But she closes the door and takes the girl in her arms, holding her close just for a moment. She looks Macarena in eyes and sees something unknown hidden there, like a secret. Second suspicious thing.

There’s nothing else to do than to shrug it off, as that day is weird and disturbing enough.

They don’t speak to each other; last night is enough and maybe even too much and there are none things left to say. The ones that can be said out loud, at least.

For the last time, she takes a look at the place and two women standing in front of it, waving her and she jumps behind the wheel.

Her mind sets almost instantly on the task and what she is supposed to do. First of all - come back home one more time to make calls and take everything useful. Everything that can _kill_.

Anticipation and stress make her hungry almost immediately, just when she starts to cross the road towards the city. She stops on the red light and takes sandwich Saray made for her, taking a big bite and throwing it on the seat next to her.

Her eyes slide to the mirror and she stops breathing. Last and ultimate suspicious thing.

A couple of cars behind her, on a motorcycle, is a blonde woman, speeding when the light goes green.


	12. those eyes add insult to injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! it's kind of a filler chapter(??) or so i view it as. nonetheless i hope you'll enjoy - tell me in the comments  
> xx

Zulema is so furious she doesn’t halt to think. She keeps on driving, pushing the car to its limits and biting her bottom lip with anger until it bleeds. If it was possible, there would be fumes leaving her nostrils.

The naive part of her hopes she can lose Macarena in the obvious turns she makes. She is wondering if Saray planned it with _la Rubia_ all along or was it an impulsive decision in a brief matter of seconds. But their expressions betrayed them all along, yet Zulema acted dumbly as if it were not clear signs.

Two people in the world who discovered her almost to the point she is prime and naked. She has no idea why she chose the two most _stupid_ people with literal no brains. She swears on her _hermana_ , calls Macarena names she wouldn’t dare in front of the woman because it would cost her several hits in the shoulder and silence for a couple of hours. Usual antics of hers.

So lost in thoughts, with her temper striking once in a while and anger still buzzing in her veins, she finds her way back to the city quicker than predicted. The roads seem to lead her mechanically.

It takes ten minutes of traffic and three turns to left, long straight street and turning right just around the corner to see their building. Windows of their apartment mirror the Sun and Zulema narrows her eyes to stop the blinding lights. Their parking spot is free, as if waiting for someone to come back home.

She doesn’t know what to expect when she shuts the door behind herself and sits on the mask of the vehicle. From herself or from Macarena.

Certainly not the faint grip on her jacket. With uneasiness, she leaps away from the touch and turns to face Macarena. She has the half of her hair caught up in a ponytail, in the way Zulema saw her only a couple of times, countable on fingers of one hand, and which almost makes her forget to yell at the blonde. She doesn’t though, just collects her willpower to not make a scene in the middle of the street.

Does it all count as a betrayal if the blonde is sticking by her side all the time?

Zulema is wondering if it can be named at all while glancing at Maca like at a stranger. _Be calm and collected_ , she repeats while she studies the other woman. What pushes her over the edge is the helmet Macarena is holding in her hands.

But she won’t do this on the street in the middle of the day, so she catches Macarena’s wrist and pulls her towards their building. Walking the stairs to their apartment never seemed so long-drawn.

When the door closes behind them, she turns to look at Maca and loses all words.

Ferreiro is standing, her back ]against the wooden surface and her face is completely blank. They spend a moment just looking at each other before Zulema inhales and growls out.

“What are you doing here?”

“To be honest, following you,” Macarena shrugs. She is acting like it’s not life and death and perhaps, for now, it is not but soon it will turn into something entirely else.

“I told you to stay away. So many times.” Zulema takes a step closer and their faces are inches apart. They always seemed to have a problem with giving the other person space; invading it is written in their relationship. “What am I supposed to do? Beg you to _fucking listen_ and do as you are told?”

“You won’t make it alone, Zulema. We both know it.”

Macarena is wondering if their noses brushed against each other or is it in her head because of the horrible silence hanging between this little space.

“Suddenly you don’t believe in my abilities?” Zulema chuckles bitterly and moves away to think clearer. “I’ve survived once without you just fine.”

They both know it’s not _just fine_.

“It’s not about me believing in you. The game has changed. That fucker is prepared this time. I know _you_ know this too.”

“I do.”

With this straightforward answer, Macarena is taken aback. Her eyes widen and she opens her lips but no words come out.

Zulema knows what this means - she can easily read out what’s happening in _Rubia’s_ head. She’s realizing, oh yes, just right now when her eyes shine with excitement that her idea somehow moved Zulema and now when she purses her lips she is trying to think of a way to push the effects forward. It’s even amusing to be able to read someone like their face is a page with words written all over.

She’s always been good at reading people, undoubtedly but it feels complex with Macarena. Maybe from the beginning, it’s been different with her.

A little more time and Macarena will jump out with the continuation to her arguments but Zulema already knows all possibilities and knows how to answer each one of them. What doesn’t occur her is that Maca may be aware of that and that’s the reason behind her little smirk.

“You need support, someone to have your back. Otherwise, you won’t make it. And you know what happens when you get killed and Ramala has an open way? He comes for me and for Rosa,” Her voice doesn’t sound as confident as she would like to, there are moments when it’s heavy with fear and almost makes her stutter.

Zulema thought of that but didn’t expect Rubia to even say it out loud. She should’ve known only surprises with her… whatever Macarena is to her.

And it’s not like the scenario is impossible, quite the opposite.

It doesn’t take much observance to see Macarena is scared. Terrified even. In that, Zahir finds another surprise - old Ferreiro would already be half of the world away, discovering a route to escape and run away. But now, despite how her face turns white with the realization of the danger, she is not letting go. The very thought doesn’t even cross her mind as it seems.

“I hate how much sense you make,” Zulema pouts and launches herself onto the couch, one leg bent in the knee and the other put over it and hands tangled under her head.

“Usually you call me stupid so I guess thank you,” Macarena breaks a smile.

“Oh don’t… I surely will find a crack in this idea,” Zulema waves her hand and covers her eyes with it, sighing.

“Alright. What do we need to do?” Zahir sits up and sighs once again, louder and makes Macarena rolls her eyes.

“You - wait here as I make some calls. And we need to return _my_ motorcycle to Saray, just in case she needs to go somewhere, but that’s for later-”

“I’m not going to just sit here and do nothing,” Macarena is standing over here with arms crossed over her chest.

Zulema gets up and instantly towers over the blonde on her boots. It bothers her Maca stopped feeling intimidated by their height difference a long time ago. Something else awakens in her eyes each time but Zulema doesn’t want to put her finger on it.

She places her pointing finger on Macarena’s forehead and slightly pushes her away. The younger woman squints her eyes and then, lowers them down on Zulema. For a moment, she forgets why they’re actually there.

“Want to work with me? Then stick to the plan and don’t move your ass.”

“Your plan is shitty,” Macarena argues and throws out her hands.

“You wanted to join me by yourself,” Zulema says and shrugs, knowing it raises hell inside of Ferreiro.

“Well…” Macarena nods and turns around to the kitchen.

Making her stay at home is a terrible mistake. She plays the music so loud Zulema can’t comprehend one thought and find the notebook where she has all the important contacts written down. Then, she starts cooking something that smells so horribly Zahir is considering throwing the pan out of the window.

“ _Puta Rubia,_ ” She says under her breath, flicking the pages over and writing the numbers into her phone. Then, she jumps and the notebook falls from her hands when something bangs in the kitchen, echoing in the apartment.

She storms into the kitchen and finds Macarena with an innocent surprise on her face and whatever dish she tried to make is all over the floor.

“For fuck’s sake! Alright, drive to our old apartment and take a black bag from the basement!” She groans seeing the mess.

A win for Macarena.

“What? We had a basement?”

“Of course, we did. So clean this shit up and then, go and get it,” Zulema points at the floor, barely keeping herself from taking it into her own hands and making the kitchen look presentable again.

“Is it legal?” Macarena asks while she picks up the pan and rests what’s left on it.

“You’re joking right now.”

“But do the new locators have a key to the basement? Didn’t they find the bag?”

“If they did we would already be hunted down,” Zulema sneers and comes back to her place behind the sofa where the dropped notebook lies. She turns the music down on her way and continues her work. “But go and find out.”

~

Macarena explores the basement with the clear instructions Zulema gave her. She is guessing she’s standing right in front of the door to their previous little basement when she ends up at the end of a dark hallway.

She’s already sneezed three times from the dust and has walked into a cobweb. It’s obvious she wasn’t the only one living here who didn’t know about the basement’s existence because most of the doors look untouched and long forgotten. Shouldn’t be a surprise Zulema found out about it as she always keeps digging everywhere; no secrets hidden from her. Well, most of the times.

But Macarena is not opening _that_ pandora box today. Or ever.

Her flashlight flickers and she shakes it violently while fidgeting with keys in her right hand. She opens the lock quite easily, as it visibly was used in past months and she doesn’t really want to ask for what reasons Zulema used the room.

The square room is not as cluttered as she expects. There are some boxes, some perhaps from former owners but some look newer and she just knows they are Zulema’s. Maybe it’s for the best she doesn’t open them.

But between there is her purpose - black bag put in the corner under some old chest of drawers.

Macarena leaps between the boxes, falling onto one and ending up on the floor with her flashlight. The batteries fall out and she is met with darkness, barely seeing a hand in front of her face. She hears her own hard breathing and every little sound and despite everything, fear creeps in the back of her mind.

That’s the first time in two days she let herself think about Ramala and the heaviness crashes onto her. She moves clumsily on the floor and finds lost batteries. The longer it takes to put them in, the harder it is to stop her hands from shaking. Fortunately, she is greeted with a creek of light.

She gets up and brushes off her jeans on her ass, getting back to her quest.

The bag is heavy, way too heavy and she throws it onto her arms hearing things hitting one another. Lots of them.

Macarena closes the door behind herself, praying to God not to meet any neighbour or worse, the owner of the building; maybe the place looks abandoned but there might be people like Zulema. Getting the lock back in place and making sure it’s secure is harder with her arm getting numb is a tough task but she makes it finally.

It’s a speed walk back to the car. She throws the bag on the passenger seat, ready to turn on the engine. But, God, the bag keeps glancing at her, literally flirting to be opened and looked through. Additionally - Macarena should know what she’s driving with, right? And Zulema wouldn’t send her for something she didn’t want to see her. She knows better, after all, and was a witness to Ferreiro’s curiosity too many times.

The zip takes one pull to open.

She expected the sight but it’s still overwhelming to see guns and many packages of ammunition. Easily she begins weighting one of the guns in her hands, it feels so familiar. A year parted her and weapons but she still can remember times when Zulema was teaching her how to shoot, spending hours by their van until her hands screamed and begged for a break.

Hopefully, she can use some bullets on motherfuckers who decided to play with Zahir again.

Honking on the streets brings her back and she hurridly hides the gun, almost in her own jacket out of habit which never left her veins.

The forgotten rush when she has to drive with this bag next to her through the main part of the city reappears; deep down she expects someone to see her and tell her to stop the car. Of course, nobody does.

She decides to put it down underneath the seat after she parks on their street and checks a couple of times.

Whistling above her head makes Macaren turns to see Zulema leaning out of the window with a cigarette and shit-eating grin. She can’t help but smile back and they stay there for a moment like two idiots just grinning at each other.

Back at the apartment, Maca is greeted with chips on the table and Zulema sitting on the windowsill. Smile is still dancing in the corners of her mouth.

“Eat up and we will get going,” She says and closes the opened window, jumping down and sitting down on the chair in front of Ferreiro.

“What’s next?”

Macarena didn’t even realize earlier but now eating, the hunger is enormous and a chip by chip disappears inside of her mouth. It clearly amuses Zulema whose smile appears again.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” She says softly, teasing her but at the same time speaking so gently it almost takes Maca by surprise.

“Oh, and who is saying that!”

Zulema sticks out her tongue but puts the topic to rest, “We’re going to Saray. You’ll take the car and I’ll take the motorcycle to drop it off. Then, we go a long way around to Ramala.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Just some people to pay a visit and some for accompanying. You will see.”

Macarena rolls her eyes at the mysterious aura the brunette is trying to make, finishing her plate quickly and throwing it into the sink. She can imagine Zulema’s irritation she doesn’t wash it instantly. But just because they’re leaving doesn’t mean she is suddenly better at her chores, so she shrugs to herself and abandons the dirty plate.

“I packed some of your clothes and stuff,” Zulema states while they get ready.

When she opens the door and waits for Macaren to step out of the apartment, she can see the hesitation in her eyes. Despite impatience, she lets her have this moment. There’s no way to know what will happen next.

“Do you think we will come back?” Macarena turns back to shot one last look at their home.

“I want to say yes,” And Zahir truly does. All the months spent here are not worth losing now.

“But…?”

“But putting our hopes high isn’t the wisest.”

Macarena turns to her, treacherous tears collecting in her eyes.

“ _Venga, Rubia,_ ” She isn’t good at this. If she lets Maca get all emotional, she will slip too and she can’t cry when there’s mission ahead with no place for feelings. There are already too much of them.

With a shake of her head, Macarena throws away whatever thought she had in her head and follows Zulema.

The door closes behind them.


	13. so step right out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i'm back with a new chapter, i hope you'll enjoy it!  
> (also i've got some information in the notes below the chapter for you)

_Fleetwood Mac_ is blasting through the radio while they speed on the expressway.

It’s one of those surprisingly warm days - the windows are rolled down and Macarena is leaning her face out of the car and catches last sun rays on her face, with eyes shut. Her feet are popped up on the dashboard.

Zulema isn’t too happy about it, from time to time telling her to get _those stinking legs down_ and to put _the damn shoes_ on.

Her voice gets gradually louder when she sees Macarena’s head outside the window and soon she is heard over the radio as the chorus hits.

_And if you don’t love me now_

_You will never love me again_

_I can still hear you saying_

_You would never break the chain_

It’s scattered between warmth and cold, pain and comfort; Macarena can’t find exactly what voice of Zulema’s reminds her of. She hardly heard her singing before, despite she’s known her voice is deep and beautiful like that and presuming from the amount of humming, to herself or to Rosa, she must have enjoyed that.

She settles back onto the headrest and tilts her head enough to watch Zulema in this moment of reckless freedom. Her feet move to the beat unwittingly but she just keeps on listening. She’s seen Zulema dancing to this song, and other from _Fleetwood Mac_ during their years in the caravan, but never singing.

Although, the lack of company to sing never stopped Macarena from destroying her own throat and being almost killed to just stop shouting.

Perhaps it’s the open road. The unknown of the future. Or the emotions from saying goodbyes less than an hour earlier.

When Zulema places her hand on the stick, Macarena doesn’t think much more about it, simply puts her one over Zulema’s.

“You look happier,” She cuts through the music and their eyes lock. She barely recognizes the kicking feeling in her stomach, fluttering as if she was a teenager once again, before she got herself in any mess and trouble; when she was dating ignorant and stupid boys and they made her feel like on the cloud nine.

It’s nothing in comparison to what’s happening to her right now. She’s known Zulema half of her life, God, not by choice and for the best part of that time she wished she’s never met her. How the tables have turned because now she can’t let go of her. She feels too selfish but a hidden part of her wants to stay in the car forever, where they are stuck in a bubble and no one disturbs them; where life is kept away.

But there is Rosa waiting for them. Saray waiting for Zulema.

Macarena knows it’s a thought of a fool but it wouldn’t be the first time she is one.

“Oh, don’t say,” Zulema wiggles her eyebrows under her bangs and flashes her a grin, looking like a devil. She doesn’t move her hand.

It sends more shivers down Macarena’s back and her heart rate fastens its pace until she swears it can be heard in the car. Sometimes things like that happened with Zulema Zahir next to her, with every year more often and she realizes the feeling is so constant by now that she doesn’t notice most of the time it’s there at all. Her fingers move, caressing the skin, coarse and red on the knuckles; almost cruel with the violence they’ve witnessed.

She could lean down right now. She could reach Zulema’s face with one move.

“ _Qué?_ ”

She takes her hands away, sorely slow and turns her head to the road ahead of them. Something in her is shaking with upcoming anticipation and want. Well, it’s been a long time since the last time… But Maca knows that’s not what it is all about. Zulema is the reason.

A painful silence settles between them, tried to be overtaken by the radio still playing.

 _Why everything has to be so messy when it came to them?_ , Macarena asked herself, feeling her eyes burning with embarrassment when she hears an answer.

“Never been a good pair, Rubia,” Zulema says as she is turning the wheel and driving down from the road to the service area. “Well, got it wrong. Perhaps we are a good pair but tough. I think you agreed for this a long ago, consciously.”

“I don’t want easy,” Macarena murmurs, looking everywhere but not at Zulema.

The brunette is doing the same, as if looking for a parking spot takes very much focus in the emptied surroundings, when she adds, “Good. Me neither.”

Comfortable it is from then on, they shut the door at the same time and Macarena goes to the bathroom to fresh herself up while Zulema is buying food and ordering hot dogs for them.

Her hair is tangled so she ties it at the top of her head into a messy bun and she changes her jeans into a long red skirt Zulema threw into the bag when she packed her back in the city. She enjoys long rides but the feeling of unfreshness bothers her.

Leaving the bathroom, Maca feels ultimately better. And probably looks better too, guessing from Zulema’s eyes which stop on her immediately when she appears back in the station.

With no words said, Zulema hands the denim jacket back to her and doesn’t stop glancing back at her while they wait for the hot dogs.

Finally, Macarena can’t stop herself from leaning to Zulema’s side and whispering straight into her ear.

“Like what you see, huh?”

Zahir doesn’t turn back again but her back tenses, “You’re a mess.”

“You’ve never been a fan of order really,” She adds, so close her lips almost touch Zulema’s earlobe.

She has too much fun teasing the brunette.

Back in the car, they eat quickly, and Macarena studies the map Zulema hands her. When she asks if they can’t simply use Google Maps she is sent a death glare and Zulema’s finger points at the map.

Macarena is still eating when they pull back onto the expressway. Lack of sleep she got last night reaches her when she has a full stomach and finally feels comfortable. She wants to curl up with a blanket and take a nap but Zulema won’t let her because she is her own private GPS and supposed to show her the road. But right now the road is straight and easy.

Just when her eyes start to close and her head tilts to the window, a voice awakens her up.

“We need to visit one person to get in touch with other old friends,” Zulema has light up a cigarette, not known in what moment and she holds it between her lips while the words slip between them. “I made a deal after… after Mexicans. I would only call if I had to. So they told me to give their address and number to someone else, hard to reach. Saray was a too easy choice, obviously. So now we’re gonna reunite with… Well, you shall see.”

She looks proud with her monologue, all mysterious and vague. With no success, she tries to hide her smile when she takes the cigarette from her mouth and lets out the smoke. She lets go of the wheel for a moment and with the other hand, she takes bubblegum and other sweets from her hoodie pocket and throws them onto Macarena’s lap.

“You’re talking in enigmas, Zulem- Is that candy? You weren’t buying it back in the station- You stole it! Zulema!” She exclaims, almost jumping in her seat while staring at the food.

“You really don’t care about the part you call enigmatic?” Zulema asks unhappily, disappointed.

“You stole candy from a gas station!”

“I did.”

Macarena gapes, loss at words while she unfolds one of the gums and throws it inside of her mouth.

“Oh, I won’t believe you don’t feel the temptation sometimes,” Zulema looks at Macarena and smirks while the blonde slowly chews on the watermelon flavoured gum.

“I don’t,” She says with a mouth full, forming a balloon. “But let’s maybe stop at the next station…”

“That's my girl!”

“But now, about _the reunion_ …”

“I’m surprised you remembered,” Zulema sighs and rolls down the window to throw out the cigarette.

~

The road grows longer as they pay visits to all stations they pass on the way, walking to the bathroom and collecting unusual kind of souvenirs in their pockets and boots, in Zulema’s case. Macarena refuses to eat them, even though Zulema tries to push them into her mouth.

Zulema Zahir stays winning, undeniably - three candy bars, which two are caramel flavoured (Macarena’s favourite), countless amount of lollipops and a pack of sour gummies. While Maca sticks to the watermelon bubblegum she constantly chews on and makes bubbles and pops them in front of Zulema’s face. The older woman yells at her to stop but she ends up chuckling foolishly anyway.

Stealing candy is a poor substitute for what they used to do; to what heights they were able to reach.

Both of them seem to be thinking about the same things when they calm down from their high and settle in the soft silence. The radio is turned down so Macarena finds one of the CDs filled with music she downloaded and puts it in.

She is feeling especially compassionate and passes all the songs Zulema can’t stand and plays one she doesn’t recognize when the beat hits.

“I added some of my songs,” The brunette explains before Maca can ask.

 _Of course, you did_ , Macarena groans internally but lets herself be pulled into the song. “What is it called?”

Zulema smiles to her, already knowing she shot straight into her taste, “ _Impossible._ ”

Macarena nods and hums ‘till the end of the song, finishing with soft guitar tuning out. She tries not to think about the lyrics which go straight into her heart, as if reading her mind.

They pull up to a driveaway in front of a nice white house when it’s already dark outside. It’s chilly when Macarena leaves the car and feels wind getting under her skirt and through the material of the denim jacket. She rubs her arms and stares at the house in front of her.

It’s quite big but smaller than Saray’s house. Still bigger than what Macarena and Zulema could even afford and looks clean and safe enough; she can’t think who is the resident. To be honest, Zahir is not one to have friends in the nice areas and neighbourhoods and being here is at least suspicious.

“Are you ready?” Zulema looks at her from across the roof of the car and fixes her bomber jacket.

“Yeah,” Whatever is coming, it’s not like Macarena has a choice.

Zulema knocks on the door, Macarena stands in the darkness where the porch lights don’t reach behind her. Zulema steps a little bit aside to cover her more with her body and Maca can’t help but smile at the gesture. It’s not like she needs anyone’s protection - she certainly does not - but the very act showed by the Scorpion is sincere and touching.

They hear footsteps approaching behind the door and then a key turns in it. Warm glow pours out and greets them.

“Oh… hi.”

Before Zulema can answer, Macarena steps out, not believing her eyes.

“Rizos!”

The woman widens her eyes with disbelief, “Maca!”

They fall into each other’s arms, tightening the grip. Macarena can sense the familiar scent, the very core of it despite it changed after the prison. She stops the tears just before they drop.

Because it feels so goddamn good to finally meet a friend who understands and who isn’t either her ex-enemy and companion of life for now, or their best friend, or a bunch of assholes who meet up only to get their money. She has missed the feeling of that, she realizes.

A thought about Rizos hasn’t crossed her mind in months in the havoc she had with a child. But right now, hugging her, the amount of love she has for this woman after all those years hits her.

“It’s good to see you,” She mumbles, as they split apart.

“Yeah, yeah, sweet greetings,” Zulema waves her hand and stops herself from protectively drawing Macarena back. “Shall we get to business?”

Rizos presses her lips together as if stopping herself from nasty thoughts she got. She steps aside to let them into the sympathetic interior.

Zulema declines any treat but Macarena settles for a green tea and thanks for it. They wait in the living room, where the walls are red-brownish bricks and architecture plans and paintings are hung at every side. Macarena is shaking her leg anxiously, with straightened back unnaturally and swiping her hands over the soft material of the orange couch shaped in L. Beside her Zahir is leaning against the cushions, patterned in black and white stripes. Her eyes scan the bookshelves above the TV screen which is playing a soap opera.

The host comes back, now a sweatshirt is thrown over her nightshirt and puts Macarena’s tea in front of her. In the other hand, she is holding a piece of paper. She sits down on the armchair in front of the sofa.

“Well… I didn’t expect you bringing company if it came down to this,” She hands out a gentle smile; more to Macarena than to Zulema but her voice smoothes it over. “And surely not Macarena!”

Surprisingly, Zulema chuckles at that, “She is glued to me. I tried to lose her on the way, trust me.”

“ _Oye!_ Stop it!” Ferreiro pokes her elbow into the woman’s side, eyes glistening with amusement, knowing too well it’s all teasing.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Rizos who is looking at that exchange quite startled and lost.

“I must admit, I hoped you wouldn’t show up,” She continues, dropping the idea of choosing words carefully. Zulema seems in a good mood with her friend sitting next to her. “Not because… Let’s say, I might have contacted the address you left here. And dug a little bit to know who those women are and what’s your history. And all of this sounds like lots of trouble.”

Zulema’s jaw clenches but she nods slowly.

Before anything can happen and tumble all the way down, Macarena cuts in, “Am I really the least informed here?”

This time it’s Zulema poking her, painfully through the ribs.

“Why are you here together? I kinda thought you would settle down, Maca. And I didn’t know you keep in touch.”

She is owed explanations, at least in the blonde’s point of view but of course, it couldn’t be easy. Of course.

“We are raising a child together.”

Rizos chokes on the tea she also made for herself and puts it down. Her eyes look like they are going to fall out at any moment.

Macarena also opens her mouth at the bluntness she should have expected and finds herself at a loss of words. _How does that even sound_.

She’s never seen something odd, neither uncommon in their relation, just two of them and Rosa. A crooked kind of family, one might call it this. But when Zulema says those words it strikes her how strange it sounds. That they are rising a fucking child together. She’s known it, surely - it’s not like past months went unrecorded. But hearing it stated. It changes everything. For people to know it, to be thrown around so casually.

“You are doing _what_ now?” Rizos blurts out, her voice is louder. “Are you a thing?”

They pass each other a look, lingering too long to bring any ease into the situation.

“No, we are not,” Macarena says, not knowing what to do with her hands, fidgeting. “I got pregnant and Zulema decided to help me.”

Rizos’ brain stops working for a moment, trying to comprehend the information. Her eyes are narrowed and lips parted a little bit while she is thinking it through.

“There is a longer story behind it. We spent a couple of years together while… making money and then we split apart. I went around some places and came back. Long story short,” Zulema explains in the vaguest manner.

“I have lots of questions but you look exhausted, you should get some rest,” Rizos says and finishes her tea. Her smile reaching her eyes hasn’t changed through the years.

It’s somehow so comforting for Macarena to see her living past the prison. Seeing people like them make it. But she can’t overuse the hospitality, no matter how cajolingly it appears to be - warm bed after a long day on the road.

“No, no,” She shakes her head and gets up, straightening wrinkles on her skirt. “We should get going.”

“Are you kidding me? How long have you been driving?”

Their silence, tired and empty, gives Rizos all the answers.

“You can continue whatever trouble you’re causing in the morning,” She heads towards the hallway and the stairs, gesturing them to follow. “Come on, you won’t get anywhere tired. I have spare rooms.”

~

Macarena falls onto the bed with a content sigh, stretching her aching back. She couldn’t find pyjamas - probably Zulema hasn’t thought of packing it, so she settled for one of Zahir’s enormous T-shirts, working as well as a nightgown.

The bed creaks under her weight and she kicks the duvets down and then crawls underneath them. She wishes she could stay there and not go back into the car the next day, just cherish the feeling of cool sheets warming up around her body. She plugs her phone to the charger Rizos lent her for the night and scrolls mindlessly through Instagram.

She considers texting Saray how things with Rosa are going but she knows she will break down the minute she sees her baby’s name. This morning’s goodbye was one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do.

Zulema walks into the room, with crumbled clothes from today hanged over her shoulder, also in one of her big T-shirts with the hair dripping wet. Her face bare is one of the rarest things Macarena gets to see in good lighting.

When she looks up close she can even see little freckles on her nose and soft wrinkles close to her eyes.

There is no way the Scorpion isn’t noticing her observing but she doesn’t say a word while shuffling through the room and taking a first better book a bookshelf. She turns off the main lights and only left is the lamp on the nightstand, giving enough light to read.

“Good thing she has so many books,” Zulema says while she takes place on the left side of the bed. “It’s the only reason I agreed to this.”

Lie. She’s been yawning since the moment they’ve been left alone; randomly closing her eyes for a couple of long seconds to let them rest. In this state, sleep-deprived, she would get nowhere.

And the only other alternative was sleeping in the car. The silent agreement settled between them it would be the worst idea.

She opens the first page of _‘The Master and Margarita’_ and brings the book to her face to inhale the soft scent of old pages. Macarena also leans in so she stretches the book towards her so she can smell it too.

In no world, Zulema would admit it out loud, as she did to herself a long time ago, but she likes these quiet moments passing between them. The gestures and habits they’ve already learned and created between them. So delicate and calm, something entirely opposite to what happens when they conversate. When they are silent, they are at peace; she faced up to the fact she could never give peace Macarena at a long shot.

“You’re still not telling me where are we going tomorrow?” Macarena asks. She moves back at her side and turns her back on her, curling her legs up to the chest.

Zulema purses her lips, “No.”

They are too worn out for this. Macarena gives up and just mumbles out an okay, hugging the pillow.

Maybe ten minutes pass when she speaks up again.

“Are you jealous?”

“Of what?” Zulema puts a finger on the sentence she is reading and turns to Macarena, faced with her back.

“Of me.”

She opens her mouth and closes it several times and is grateful Macarena can’t see her in this state.

It’s rougher than supposed to be, “No, why would I even be.”

Macarena shifts under the covers, closing her eyes and starting to regret saying anything.

“I have a history with Rizos,” She remembers those days like through the fog, but the memories are still there. It’s obvious she doesn’t have any strong emotions about it but the fact of their romance is hanging heavier in this house.

“ _History_. Past.”

Another twenty minutes filled with slow breathing and turning of pages before Zulema can’t stand it anymore.

“Stop wriggling and go to sleep,” She marks the page in her mind, despite she won’t see the book ever again in her life and turns off the lamp.

They are laying back to back, both too tired to fall asleep. It doesn’t help to feel Macarena change position every five minutes but she stops after Zulema notices it.

Finally, when Zahir’s eyes start to get heavier, that’s when Maca has to answer.

It’s a quiet, embarrassed voice, “I have trouble sleeping in new places.”

Zulema doesn’t know what to answer so she settles on the silence, as she usually does in moments like this. Then, shifting again and she feels the warmth of a body behind her. An arm slips on her waist and a hand settles on her stomach; a leg is thrown over her hip. And most importantly, she can feel breath on her neck, a nose rubs against the sensitive skin.

Her first reaction is shock, her body freezes and she can’t take a breath.

“It’s only me,” Macarena whispers, her voice like a soothing wave smoothing over the sand. “You are with me. Safe. We are safe.”

Zulema believes her after a moment. Her hand covers Macarena’s and she presses her back against the blonde’s front. Safety creeps up on her and she is fast asleep, far sooner than Macarena who catches herself shedding a tear.

She wishes for more nights like this but she doesn’t know if they will ever get them.

But the new place for sleeping stops being difficulty because everywhere is familiar when she touches Zulema.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will try post next chapter around 20th and another one on the 31st to end this shitty year with some zurena content. (and that one i'm super excited for)
> 
> also i've been thinking about writing a little christmas special, an au, for this fanfic. tell me what are you thinking about it and if you would read it


	14. there is no amount of crying i can do for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i hope you are healthy and well!  
> in today's chapter there are new companions (and some soft zurena content because i can't stop myself from making them domestic). enjoy!
> 
> tw/ mentions of ptsd, nightmares

It’s worse than any night in the past three months.

Zulema can’t see past her nightmares; they pull her deeper until she is suffocating and she cries out pathetic and miserable prayers to be released. Her hands are held down to the ground and sharp pain comes through her body.

Tears roll down her cheeks, what she barely registers in her screams and thrashing on the floor. But she can’t escape, she is stuck there forever. The hands on her wrists disappear for a moment and she gets up to run but arms are around her waist suddenly, dragging her back and the voice which speaks to her isn’t as wicked as she remembers.

She turns her head, taking a sharp breath as she faces Ramala.

A gun to her head and abruptly in her hand appears one, too. But she is too slow when he takes it away from her forehead and swirls it around behind her.

It’s the scariest part. Zulema’s muscles are moving like frozen when she needs to turn back at the exact moment the pistol fires out and she watches the bullet go straight through Macarena’s stomach. It opens her wide, making a hole in her body which keeps stretching and growing until the blonde disappears. She doesn’t want to face the child who is crying behind her. She won’t survive seeing her little Rosa… She can't… But something is pulling her arms and her view is starting to shake and-

"Zulema!" She is swinging her arms to get away from the grip and then, she opens her eyes.

Hazel eyes are staring at her in the darkness, wide opened.

She realizes she is holding something and it's Maca's wrist which must have turned white from the pressure. She drops it immediately when she starts to gain awareness. It's hard not to get lost underwater again.

She realizes the bed is wet underneath her and she is dripping with sweat. Her T-shirt is completely soaked and she can see how her bare legs glisten in the moonlight.

She hasn't had one of _those_ nightmares in months.

Those leaving her a mess and completely fucked in the head; the ones where she shifts realities even after waking up. Those which end up with her trembling and close to sobbing.

It's so tiring. And she doesn't even have the energy to pretend it is not. Her eyes close not to look at Macarena when she talks.

"Can you… Can you help me walk to the bathroom?"

Her throat is dry and voice sounds croaked and weak. What terrifies her, even more, is the fact she doesn't mind Macarena seeing her like this.

She gave up completely her trust for her. Throughout the years it happened slowly and ceased, and then began again but this time it's static. She trusts Macarena and it scares the living shit out of her, almost as much as the night horror itself. Trusting someone means getting your heart broken one way or another, eventually.

Macarena leans and brushes the wet bangs out of her forehead and her hand lingers over her face for a moment. She gently touches her cheek and unwittingly, Zulema leans into the touch, wanting to feel another person close. No, not another person - Macarena close.

They stay like this, Zulema letting Maca’s fingers softly stroke her cheek and letting herself settle in the feelings. When her eyes flutter back open, she is met with the softest way somebody ever looked at her.

There’s no hate. No anger. No lust.

It’s pure affection and it works like a miracle, like a medicine.

“Zulema…” Macarena’s voice is a tender whisper when she takes her hand away. “You need to change, come.”

And she does, following Macarena, who is on her tiptoes, in the hallway to the bathroom.

The blonde opens the door for her and waits for her to come in, then also enters.

“I will find something to wear for you and wash your clothes, wait for me here,” She says, turning on the water in the bathtub, checking if it’s not too hot and turning to leave.

“Wait!”

Maca turns and glances at Zulema who is standing in the middle of the bathroom, looking helpless and lost. So unlike herself.

“Just be quick, _vale_?”

The moment she brings her walls up is so visible. The way her voice becomes harsh and heavy like a stone; it drops the words with strength. They sound choked up and held back.

“Yeah, only a second.”

She runs to the guest room as quiet as possible, collecting first clothes that fall into her hands and goes right back to Zulema. She gently knocks and hears come in, so she enters and finds Zahir in the bathtub, laying and still in her clothes. Hair around her head make a dark halo, her eyes look empty as she is staring at the ceiling.

“So should I go… or…?” Macarena asks. She places things she brought next to the sink.

“You can stay. But don’t look.”

She nods and sits down on the toilet, it bends underneath her and she turns back to the bathtub. She hears as Zulema takes the wet shirt off and throws it onto the cold floor, then she starts fumbling with different bottles and finds a rose shampoo.

Macarena knows it because she sniffed it in her hair which she washed a few hours earlier and she can say, the scent grown on her. She needs to buy one for Zulema when they come back home.

 _Home_.

They’ve been away for such a short period of time and both of them already feel that; the distance and unfamiliarity of being away from the third person of their family. She wishes she just could take all of this heaviness on herself and not see Zulema in this state. It aches more than it should.

Macarena Ferreiro likes to think of herself as an empath but she knows she can get selfish way too easily. That it doesn’t happen often, that she sacrifices too little but right now, all she wants to feel the suffering instead of Zulema.

She wants to make all promises that are impossible to be kept; to promise they will soon be safe and sound, back home and watching Rosa grow up. But she knows all too well promises like this are broken and it hurts, no matter the awareness of how fragile they are, it still feels like a betrayal. She cannot afford to do this to Zulema, even though the brunette is not stupid enough to believe in them.

She doesn’t even realize she started to doze off, leaning forward more and more until she is almost bent in half until Zulema shakes her arm.

Already wearing her hoodie and underwear beneath it, Zahir is standing over her, looking as tired as Macarena feels.

They come back to the guest room after Macarena washes sweaty clothes and hangs them over the bathtub, hoping they will be dry enough to pack them up back into the bag, so they can move further in their plan and ride. She doesn’t hesitate in switching the nightlamp on, seeing hesitant movements of Zulema.

“Maybe we will sleep late tomorrow?”

She hears mad grumbling on the other side of the bed, clear disagreement.

No matter what Zulema is thinking, Macarena quickly changes the alarm to an hour later one. They need to rest and this surely is not resting; barely two hours of sleep and she doesn’t know how much more they will get until the morning.

When Zulema moves across the bed and rests her head on Maca’s chest, she stops breathing for a moment. Then, she realizes the brunette must have felt that so she tries to find the steady rhythm, natural, once again and places her hand on the woman’s back.

After a while, she also puts the other one around Zulema and they shuffle into a more comfortable position: Zulema slides her leg around Macarena’s hips and hides her face in the crook of her neck.

Macarena whispers words she doesn’t want anyone to hear. She doesn’t even want to hear them herself.

“Huh?” Zulema asks and raises her head.

“Nothing.”

~

It’s mostly Macarena thanking Rizos for help and promising to call back when they are home. Alive and well.

Zulema drives in silence for the first part of the road, smoking her thoughts out and tapping her fingers on the wheel.

Macarena doesn’t speak up either. She understands Zulema needs space and to rethink everything that happened through the night. Probably overthink and doubt, too. But no talking will stop that and the blonde accepts what the Scorpion has to do in her old habits. She is only a companion with silence while Zulema is driving and sighing from time to time.

The silence stretches ultimately to almost an hour. No music, no words, simple co-existence and sound of the tyres on the street.

When they turn right and drive into a station, Macarena gains focus again and leaves the blissful limbo between sleep and being awake.

“We need to fill up,” Zulema explains at they pull up. “Go, _Rubia_.”

The blonde rolls her eyes but does as she is told and ignores _good girl_ comment when she leaves the car.

Just when she disappears inside of the station, Zulema takes out her phone and dials the number written in cursive on the crumbled piece of paper. She tries to be quick, enough that she hides her phone back into the pocket of a black hoodie just when Macarena gets close to the car.

“I’m definitely not good for road trips after giving birth,” She says, falling back onto the seat. Of course, she bought food and she is already opening a bag with crackers. “My back is killing me. I want my bed back. I want Rosa back in my arms. I want you yelling for me to get the hell out of the kitchen.”

“Soon we’ll be back,” Zulema says, stealing a few of the crackers. “Two days and we’re back in the city.”

“Promise?”

Zulema turns her head and raises her eyebrows. They burst out laughing at the same time and stay like that until someone honks behind their car.

“Promises shouldn’t be our thing,” Zahir says, chuckles dying out in her throat finally. “You take them too seriously.”

“Me?!”

“ _Si,_ you.”

“I don’t know if you want to be reminded of all the times your idiotic ass took words too seriously and then-”

Zulema groans and wants to hit her head on the steering wheel. Instead, she turns on the radio so loud Maca is silenced with it. She sends her a grin and is sure if she wasn’t driving, she’d get a slap.

Or maybe not. Macarena seems to have a soft spot for her lately.

She smiles at that.

It should be a surprise, the ideas of Zulema. But it seems like Macarena is so used to her bullshit that when she sees two familiar figures waiting in front of a block, in the middle of a town Maca can’t even find on the map, she just shakes her head at the curious look she gets from Zule. The brunette is impatiently waiting for a reaction and Macarena won’t give her the satisfaction.

They approach the vehicle and open the back door, getting inside. A throwback in time, a big one.

Macarena turns to their new companions with a confused smile.

Zulema glances in the rearview mirror and one of the corners of her mouth moves slightly, “ _Hola, chicas_.”

“Hi!” Triana is grinning from ear to ear, buckling her seatbelt. Her hair looks a little bit longer and has now blue streaks in them. Her style hasn’t changed much. Neither has Goya’s who is sitting with a less happy expression on the other place and greets them quieter.

“Good you’re here,” Zulema admits and begins to drive back onto the main street.

“Where are we going, Zahir?” Goya asks, throwing a bag between her and Triana and looking around through the window.

“To a poor substitute for _Hotel El Oasis_ ,” She says, quickly turning her head to glance at Macarena and then at the women in the backseat. “We’re going to plan.”

“For what?”

Zulema waves her hand at Maca and shrugs, “ _Macarena_ will explain it.”

Hearing the full form of her name takes Ferreiro aback so she stares dumbfounded for a couple of seconds. She collects herself equally quick and finds the right words; everything too sharp and fragile stays out of her story.

~

The happenings of past months, with a lot of things left out of it, are already told when they pull up in front of a cheap motel with a fortunate name _Scorpion_. The price is accurate to the interior, even though money is never a problem with Zulema.

They take two rooms on the first floor at both ends of a hallway. “For safety reasons,” Zulema only comments it this way and they split to put their bags into the rooms.

Macarena is following Zulema all the way down to the other room as Zahir storms inside, kicking the door with her boot. And now, she is sitting on a big bed, creaking underneath her and tries to remember everything Zulema is saying; and it’s a lot to do because half of it sounds ridiculous and unthought and she can’t stop from rolling her eyes.

Goya doesn’t look thrilled either, Triana keeps narrowing her eyebrows but then her eyes glisten from time to time at the plan weaved by Zahir.

“No one in their right mind would attack in the morning. That’s exactly why we are going to do it.”

It’s like Zulema sees a red flag and runs towards it, faster with each part of the plan. Macarena finds it hard to stay sane, “Great, just great.”

“I mean, it sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” Triana’s hanging legs wave as she leans forward on the table she is occupying.

Zulema grins at the women sitting on the bed and gestures towards the youngest of them, “See? Someone appreciates the genius in me.”

“But what exactly are we supposed to do?” Goya asks. Of course, she isn’t convinced.

“We need a backup. One of you has to stay in the car, so whatever happens, we can drive off fast, and that would be you. And the other one, Triana, will hide close to the entrance of the hall. They will try to lock us up and make a trap.”

“So I need to kill anyone who gets near the door?” Triana tilts her head, her eyes playfully flickering.

“No!” All three of them turn to her, even Zulema has her bold expression wiped off.

Triana grins at her own trap and flips them off, chuckling, “Alright, alright, calm down.”

“I was thinking about opening the lock? While Macarena and I deal with Ramala?”

Triana nods and jumps off the table, she starts to walk around the room and watch every part of it and decoration. From time to time she murmurs about how shitty this place is and looks at Zulema with such focus that Macarena keeps herself from laughing.

Goya doesn’t look dazzled with the room either; green tapestry coming off the walls in some places, cheap paintings leaning to the side, crooked edges of the furniture and oriental carpet on the whole floor isn’t really impressive. She is lost in her thoughts for a moment until she finds another gap in the plan, “That means Triana will leave marks. We agreed for anonymity.”

“I will burn that fucking place down, _vale_?” Zulema slides a hand on her face, dramatically sighing. For them, it may seem genuine but Macarena knows those gesticulations. “Works for you, _puta_?”

Before they start insulting each other, Maca cuts in, “And we get the business done, everyone safe and sound.”

They settle on that, wishing each other good night and just like that Macarena and Zulema come back to their room, as ugly as Triana and Goya’s, for one last night before facing past demons.

“We will have to change the number plate,” Macarena notices, falling onto the bed and taking off her boots with a sigh of content.

Zulema nods as she looks out of the windows at the Sun coming down. This may be the last dawn she will ever get to see. The last night of her life.

Everything can go wrong from this moment.

She doesn’t know for how long she keeps standing like this but when she is aware of life around her again, it’s already dark outside and she realizes Macarena is saying something.

“ _¿Estás bien?_ ”

There is a soft click of the door and Zulema turns to see Maca with a bag of Chinese take-out.

She is wearing a delicate smile as she puts up her hand with the food, “I thought maybe you are hungry.”

Zahir still doesn’t say anything, keeps staring at the blonde with those dumb dimples that form in her soft cheeks, and with messy hair of hers and too long bangs that just ask to be trimmed, and nose she scrunches all the time and curious eyes. Zulema can’t stand the sight without touching it.

This is the last time she may see Macarena. It hits her so hard she thinks she will fall down right there and then; she wants to get a pause. Or maybe rush into the future to know if the decision she is making in her head will be worth it. If everything will be lost again or perhaps she will stand tall again; they will stand tall again. And the life they built in past months wasn’t for nothing.

Maybe in another dimension, she doesn’t even have to think about it. Maybe it’s easier there.

But it’s different here and she can’t stop herself from pushing off the windowsill and heading straight to Macarena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every comment will make my heart burst in love<3


	15. all this time we always walked a very thin line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are. it's a chapter i've been waiting to write for a really long time and i can finally post it.  
> i hope it's a good present to end this tough year.

Zulema can’t stop herself from pushing off the windowsill and heading straight to Macarena.

Her boots thump heavily on the carpeted floor as she gets closer, while Macarena looks rather disoriented. Zulema doesn’t know what Macarena tries to say because the second her hands reach her face, she collides her lips with her.

Perhaps she is too harsh at the beginning but she can’t stop. Her lips move alone and she is thinking about stepping back, but then Macarena cups her face with both hands, too and kisses her back. The Chinese take-out falls onto the floor and the door behind them shuts as Zulema pushes Maca onto it. She gasps into the Scorpion’s mouth feeling the force of the hit but continues the kiss.

Macarena opens her mouth slightly and Zulema does the same; they deepen the kiss, slowly tasting each other and savouring the first time of knowing each other’s flavour. All this time together and they haven’t even kissed before, Macarena thinks, it’s ridiculous.

It feels like they were supposed to do this all along, it took them too long but they’re finally here, lips on lips, body pressed up to a body, and it’s all that matters.

They run out of oxygen eventually and part, breathing into each other faces.

“Zulema…” Macarena whispers, her thumb wandering from the cheek to her bottom lip and gently touching it.

“One night. Just for us.” Zulema whispers back, the trembling in her voice showing, unsuccessfully hidden. “For the old times’ sake.”

Then they crash their lips again and Zulema pushes Macarena on the table placed next to the door. The blonde jumps up and with help of Zulema’s arms she sits on the surface. Her legs open and welcome Zulema in between, entangling around Zahir’s hips.

Macarena feels like it is a fever dream when Zulema’s lips coast down on her neck and place kisses on every centimetre of the exposed skin. Her lips part in delight and she messes up Zulema’s hair.

“Not for the old times’ sake,” She rules when Zulema bites her skin and then plays with the reddened place with her tongue. It doesn’t cover her moan, and if it does - poorly.

That’s what brings Zulema’s attention and she leans back to look at Maca. Her cheeks are peachy with blush and Macarena can’t help but smile at that, leaning in to kiss both of them. It seems to take Zulema aback and she would probably step back if not Macarena’s legs trapping her.

“For these times’ sake, for us right now,” Macarena says, not breaking the eye-contact even for a second. “Don’t make this about the past because it’s not at all. We’re not doing this for nostalgia.”

“Aren’t we really?” Zulema asks, her voice so low and deep it’s barely audible.

Macarena shakes her head, certain like never in her life before.

After that, it’s all blurry in the heated kiss they get lost again. She adores the way Zulema’s tongue teases her and then dominates her all the way, to the point she doesn’t remember how it felt to exist without Zulema’s lips on hers; the way she bites into her bottom lip and one time barely stopping before drawing blood. They move in sync, and _God_ , do their mouths just match with each other so well.

She doesn’t know how she ends up laying on the table with her shirt off but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Zulema’s hand put between her breasts to hold her down as she kisses her stomach. The zipper of her jeans is pulled down and Maca lifts her hips to help Zulema take them off.

“I want you to feel you on me,” Macarena pants, her arms pull Zulema towards her. “I want you close.”

Zulema obeys, unlike her, and crawls up her body while marking her body with her tongue. She pushes both of them further onto the table and lowers herself over Maca. She observes the way Macarena’s chest rises and falls in a rush, how her lips tremble while she breaths out, and her eyes look almost raving.

As their bodies press against each other Zulema can’t stop the warm feeling between her legs; she stops herself from moving against the blonde’s naked thigh with all of her wills.

She motions Macarena to arch her back and as swiftly as possible she unsnaps her bra and tosses it off on the floor. Her hand cups her naked breast and the woman arches her body again, this time from pleasure.

Her own hand covers Zulema’s and presses it harder against her skin.

“Do you want me to do it?” Zulema almost growls. “Or is it just about a body next to yours?”

That seems to disquiet Macarena and she props herself up on the forearms, “Of course, it’s about you. How could you even think otherwise?”

Zulema shuts her up with a kiss and a hand finding it’s way down her stomach. When they pull apart, Macarena catches Zulema’s eyes and they are _heartbroken_. They look so lost and glisten in the insecurity that she decides to calm her voice down when she talks again.

“It’s all about you, Zulema,” She tenderly holds her face so Zulema doesn’t escape the eye-contact.

“Good. Because it’s all about you, too.”

And Macarena can’t help but wonder if that’s the only way they will ever speak up about their feelings ever. If that night is the last occasion and both of them aren’t bold enough to say what’s unsaid, what’s been stuck between them for years.

But are the words even important? Do they carry the weight everyone believes they do? There are so many other ways to show how you feel; you can spit in someone’s face as well as pull someone in the warmest of hugs; you can leave someone stranded but also stay with them through thin and thick. All of this without declarations and commitments. Without words. Yet she can not imagine herself not saying what she feels.

She gasps, feeling Zulema’s hand on top of her underwear, cupping her through material that is already damp.

“What do you want _exactly_?” Zulema asks, one of her fingers moving against Maca.

Macarena rolls her eyes, not exactly sure if from annoyance or the twitching feeling in the bottom of her stomach.

“You know what,” She murmurs, trying not to hiss. Her hips rise to meet the raven-haired woman’s hand but she takes it back in time.

“I don’t think I do. It’s better to make sure, consent and all,” She lowers herself a little to get perfect access to Ferreiro’s neck, marked in a couple of places in a light shade of red.

Macarena just wants to smack the grin she is sure Zulema has on her face off and push her goddamn fingers inside of her.

“I want you to fuck me.”

With that, her panties are brutally torn down and two fingers enter her. She grabs Zulema’s back, sticking her fingernails into the skin and opening her mouth. When she relaxes enough, Zulema starts moving and thrusts them in a rapid tempo, not letting Macarena rest even a little bit.

She leans back to look at Maca’s face. Furrowed brows and parted lips, shaking with every whimper; she is clearly holding back. Her hand finds Zulema’s working wrist and catches it strong, her walls clenching with every thrust.

Zulema reflexes her hand and her thumb finds Macarena’s clit.

Exactly that’s what it takes to all the walls keeping Macarena quiet to crumble down in one second.

The loud guttural moan leaving her mouth sends Zulema shivers down her spine. She bites down into the blonde’s neck and sucks onto the skin to draw another moan, her fingers curling up inside of her.

“Are you going to come for me?” She whispers straight into her ear, her tongue leaving a wet mark on her ear.

Macarena nods furiously, her hips wiggling and she puts her feet onto the table, bending her legs in knees. Her eyes are pressed shut in focus as she waits for Zulema to push the right spot again.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Zulema takes her fingers out.

Macarena cries out in frustration, her hand pushing Zulema’s wrist in the right direction, “I’m close, I’m so close, ple-”

It’s enough for Zahir who enters her again, all knuckles deep and curls her fingers up _just in that place_. When she feels the way Macarena’s muscles tighten inside and on her stomach, she knows where to push.

“Right there!” Macarena cries out and bites her lip.

Just a straight path towards driving her crazy with two of her fingers hitting her spot and the thumb circling her clit.

Zulema knows Macarena is coming the moment the hand on her wrist almost crushes it in its hold. She stops moving and breathing, her back arching and pussy clenching. She doesn’t move her fingers, huddled and stretching.

Then, the silence is gone and Macarena’s body is shaking violently and falling apart beneath Zulema. Her lips open and only what leaves them is Zulema’s name. Propped on the forearm, she leans back to see eyes rolled back and mouth opened in bliss. She places her forehead against the blonde and helps her ride her orgasm out, gently stroking and backing down when she feels Macarena’s muscles loosen the grip.

They stay in that position for a couple of minutes until Ferreiro’s breath comes back to normal. Zulema comes off the table and licks her fingers clean, all the while looking deliberately at Macarena who slowly sits up.

Her eyes shine at the sight, just like her sweaty body and she jumps off the table, pushing Zulema to the bed.

It’s the first thing that Zulema hasn’t considered. Only her good reflex lets her turn them in their death dance that Macarena is the one who falls onto the sheets.

But it doesn’t change her fate at all because she is pulled onto the mattress right away and Macarena straddles her hips. She pulls her black T-shirt over her head and throws it away, staring at the skin revealed in front of her.

Her fingers land between the collarbone and the skin immediately covers in goosebumps. She stops staring and finds Zulema’s dazed gaze; she is looking at her like she’s seeing her for the first time in her life.

She doesn’t understand this expression, so her eyes slide down her chest again, right with her slim fingers. With gentleness, she touches the part of the skin uncovered by the bra. She finds a way towards the clip and swiftly undoes it and the bra slips down Zulema’s arms. They take it down completely together.

The view is addictive. She can’t pull her eyes away from Zulema’s breasts, how her skin is pale, untouched by the sun and nipples are erect. Her tongue starts making circles around them, flicking and sucking. Zulema lays completely silent but her breath is faster and hips move restlessly, looking for release.

When Macarena’s hand starts to make its way down the body, Zulema’s one shoots up and almost crushes Maca as she drags her further. She jumps away with wide eyes, panting.

Macarena stares at her confused and sudden pain hits her heavily when she sees fear in Zulema’s eyes.

“I’m sorry- Zulema, listen I didn’t mean to, I should’ve asked,” She starts reaching out her hand, hoping the woman won’t flinch away.

She meets warm skin underneath her palm.

“It’s not your fault, _Rubia_ ,” She says, moving towards the blonde and placing her hands on her waist. “Let’s just take it easy.”

“Of course!” Macarena lets herself be lied down on her back and sighs when their chests press up against each other.

They kiss again and it still feels like the whole world stops the moment their lips meet again, even though they keep kissing every other minute and they should be already used to it. Yet everything ceases to exist around them.

Macarena’s heart pounds so hard she is wondering if Zulema can feel it through two layers of skin between them. It’s like being stripped to nothing, not only physically. She’s never felt so naked before and it should terrify her, make her run like hell. But being so visible makes her safer than ever. She pulls Zulema closer if that’s possible, her hands entangling around her neck and feeling a knee between her legs.

At the sensation, Maca moans into Zahir’s mouth. Before she can ask, Zulema nods and somehow they understand each other instantly. Her leg slides aside and positions close to Zulema’s centre.

The woman lowers herself down and groans into the kiss. It becomes messy and demanding when both of them start brushing against each other. Suddenly, Zulema backs out and hurriedly takes off her cargo trousers, throwing them on the floor and comes back to her previous position.

As her naked thigh touches Macarena’s folds, the blonde lets out a shaky breath and pulls Zulema into another heated kiss.

“You feel so good,” She whispers, moving her hips.

That’s when Zulema realizes she doesn’t mind dying tomorrow if that’s how her last night unrolls.

Her panties are wet but she feels it only when Macarena pushes her leg and presses against them. She makes a throaty sound and digs her nails into Ferreiro’s shoulders, starting to pound harder on the leg.

Macarena is sensitive enough it doesn’t take long to send her over the edge again. She starts whimpering and moaning out Zulema’s name, her hips making circle movements until she is shaking with need and clutches around Zulema, one of her legs thrown on the brunette’s back as she stops moving.

Zulema adores those seconds where Maca stays with her mouth opened and eyes rolling back, hips still. It feels like witnessing a religious moment, a sacramentum, so shameless; then she dips out of the deep waters and screams her lungs out in her orgasm. She is silenced again with Zulema’s kiss soothing her down and gently moving her leg away.

After breathing in oxygen into her lungs, Macarena comes alive and starts moving her leg. Zulema almost moans above her but bites her lips in the last moment and hides her face in the blonde’s neck.

She feels soft hands stroking her back and it almost brings her to cry.

“I haven’t… After the Mexicans I didn’t- I mean-” She mumbles out between the heavy breaths that leave her mouth.

“I know, Zulema,” Macarena’s voice is gentle and calm; all the while she is setting fire between her legs. “And I don’t care, all I want is your pleasure.”

She feels the warmth in the pit of her stomach she hasn’t felt in months and it makes her heart almost jump out of her chest, adrenaline coming somewhere between from the fear and excitement. Her hand gets under the waistband of her panties and all it takes are three flicks around her clit to be close to coming.

“You’re safe, let go,” Macarena whispers, still holding her.

And Zulema does.

A loud moan leaves her lips, louder than anything she made before and her body spasms above Macarena’s who holds her down and places soft kisses all over her neck through it all.

They stay like this for long, Zulema hiding her face which glistens in sweat and tears. Tears of relief she is still able to do this, in the midst of everything that has happened to her. That she still foolishly can believe into words, at least those said by Macarena. She doesn’t want to let go of her, not yet.

Eventually, she slides down on her back next to the blonde and swipes her hand over her forehead, uncovering it, her bangs falling in every direction. She looks to the side and can’t help but stare at Maca’s flushed cheeks and glossy lips, eyes hazy and lazily closing like after ecstasy when it starts to wear off. Her hair is a mess, all over the pillow and her bangs are sticking to her face.

She reaches and takes it off her forehead just like she did to herself a moment before.

“Are you okay?” Macarena props herself on an elbow.

She is looking like a goddess of the sun, in the middle of darkness and night surrounding her. Her skin is literally glowing in the grim room, reflecting the light of the moon, warming it up and owning it like it’s something given just for her.

It’s impossible to not fall under her charm, and if Zulema didn’t so many years before, she would surely fall into this trap right now.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Oh, definitely.”

The room resounds in gentle chuckling of two voices. When it fades out, Macarena doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact she is staring at Zulema.

She has so many questions, and so many answers if Zulema only asked her too. But there is also one thing choking her, not letting her breathe.

The idea of tomorrow doesn’t seem appealing at all; it’s a cruel joke of the universe for them to find each other in an embrace of lovers only now. That’s easier to think, to blame it on the almighty world than to admit it’s their own fault, that all of their decisions led them here. Beginning from every little action in the prison to Macarena not pushing Zulema away forty minutes earlier.

When Zulema opens her eyes, those green orbs, scanners, which never let Maca exist with peace, she knows what is left to say.

“I have to tell you something,” Her voice is heavy and tight. She doesn’t know what words to use to stop her eyes prickle.

Zulema knows, of course, she does, “No, you don’t. Unless you’re pregnant again.”

“I’m not-”

“I’ve never fucked a pregnant woman before, actually, that would be interesting,” Zulema cuts in, trying to stop whatever is coming.

“Zulema, _te quie_ -”

“Don’t! Don’t say it.”

Zulema drops her eyelids again and looks like she is shrinking, trying to disappear. Showing exactly how Macarena feels.

“But it’s true. _I do_ ,” Macarena is on the verge of tears. She feels her heart clenching with pain. At the circumstances. At the unknown of tomorrow.

She needs to know if they will survive. She needs to know what will be the consequences of this night; or if they will be any at all because if they die-

What hits her is the thought she prefers both of them dying than she left alone. And it’s selfish because her daughter is waiting for her.

But she tried to survive Zulema’s death once and it almost killed her.

She lies down and turns back to Zulema, curling her legs to her chest. She feels a warm body pressing up against her.

“I know, Macarena.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, leave a comment if you liked it
> 
> i wish you all a happy new year and i hope we see each other in a week❤


	16. you didn't even hear me out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii  
> there it is! something long anticipated and awaited, hope it doesn't disappoint you  
> enjoy;)

Sleeping was a waste of time in Zulema's view. For her, the best scenario looks when they are all sleep-deprived and get themselves killed before even entering the old factory.

Macarena is smoking a cigarette she stole from the brunette, her back rested on the front of the car as tries not to get annoyed with Zulema. Even though, after the last night, she has different ideas to work her anger out than to slap her partner in crime.

"Take the gasoline and start to pour it around the building once you make sure we are busy with narcos," Zulema pulls out containers from the trunk.

They are parked in a tight alley between two houses, half a kilometre away from the factory. The Sun hasn't even risen yet but it starts to play out its soft colours on the sky. Macarena watches it, the tender rays climbing up the horizon while finishing up her cigarette and then stepping on it.

She flashes a smile to Goya sitting behind the wheel, having it returned. She turns to the women standing by the trunk who are picking up the containers.

Zulema’s black hood has fallen down her head, so she pulls it up and picks up another costrel of gasoline. She catches Triana’s amused glance but mouths her to cut it; what actually makes the younger woman grin with no secrecy.

“Goya, you turn on the engine the moment you hear the whistle,” Zulema leans in through the open window to their driver. “No sleeping.”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot, Zulema,” Goya leans in and they stay face to face for a couple of seconds. Meanwhile, Macarena and Triana roll their eyes and begin their walk towards the wastes outside the town and their target.

Zulema nods and follows them.

“So last night was busy, huh?”

“Shut up.” Both Macarena and Zulema snap and make Triana giggle.

There is an anxious tone to it, like in each of their voices. It’s hard not to be nervous in the last hiding spots of the darkness before the dawn. It’s covering them but for how long? Shadows don’t make them feel safer anyhow, in the open, on a deserted road.

Cars don’t drive here and the one Goya is sitting in, waiting, will be an exception. Putting aside Ramala’s crew who not once or twice found their way there.

Zulema did once too.

She told them through their ride to the eastside everything about the factory of glass.

“Shut down in 1999 when a third employee died through an accident in one year. They would close it eventually, even if that didn’t happen as the owner’s business started going down the drain. It was empty until the late 2000s and that’s when Ramala found a little lodge for himself and his men. I had a privilege to see the place on my own… and it’s as expected for men. Pathetic and stinking.”

Macarena tried to soak every information and create a map in her head, remembering ways to escape, places to hide, which rooms are close to falling apart and killing her. She tries to ignore the heartache with every step they get closer to the building. It looks abandoned, indeed, and close to tumbling down on their heads.

If Ramala doesn’t kill them, the ceiling and walls can finish his work as well.

She recognizes the look of fear on Zulema’s face. For outside it can pass as a careless one because there are barely any signs of distress. But she sees a twitching muscle close to her lip and wide eyes scanning the area, ready to set off an alarm.

They can’t die there, not a chance. Not in the place where Zulema Zahir looks so utterly terrified and helpless. Not where her demons take care of her, acting like friends; slowly embracing her with soft touches and then suddenly pulling her under the deep waters and trying to drown her. Zulema has to die somewhere where her heartbeat smooths over and she is lying in a safe place.

Yes, it is very like her to die on a battlefield, the dramatics of it all. But sometimes you have to grit your teeth and get over the fact you won’t get what you want.

“See you soon,” Macarena says to Triana when they stop in front of the old, metallic door. The Sun is on its way to expose them and Triana has to quickly run around the building unseen and then enter it to find the places not used by the narcos to pour the gasoline there, too.

The girl presses her lips, almost looking like she’s smiling and sets off to her left.

Zulema and Macarena turn their faces to each other and nods at the same time.

“Let’s do this,” Maca says and reaches for the handle.

“Are you sure?” Zulema catches her wrist before it can touch the door. She is pale and her hand feels much colder than normal.

“Of what?” Ferreiro narrows her eyebrows.

“You can back off right now,” Zulema meets her eyes, sincerity flashing in them. And something that almost makes her voice sounds like begging. “You can go back to Goya and drive away if something goes wrong.”

“I thought we were past this,” Macarena sighs. “I’m doing this, whether you like it or not. It’s both of us or no one.”

“ _Vale_.”

This time Zulema reaches for the handle and is stopped by the blonde; both of them touching the door but staying in place.

“Tell me one thing before we go inside. Did you really take this money?”

That truly throws Zulema off and she can’t help but laugh, shaking her head. She seems to hesitate in her answer but eventually admits, “Would I be myself if I did not?”

Just what Macarena expected. It seemed so obvious she’s never asked but something about this place made her start to rethink past days. She knows giving them back wouldn’t change a fucking thing, that Ramala would still hunt them down until they were dead or worse.

“What did you do with them?”

“Honestly?” Zulema lowers her voice, like if telling a secret. She leans her head down to reach Maca’s height. “I took only two diamond bracelets, whatever was by my hand when I escaped. And I lost them.”

Macarena opens her lips, but no words come out of them. She is waiting for a joke, for any sign Zahir is fooling around but the brunette stares at her curiously, yet pleased with herself.

“Are we really here because of two bracelets which you lost?”

“Don’t look at me like this,” Zulema pouts and turns the handle. “We would be here anyway after the wedding.”

Before Macarena can discuss every what-if and make an argument out of it, the door opens and cracks painfully and slowly.

They are met with a pair of expectant eyes above them but before the guard can react, Zulema takes out her pistol and throws herself at the man.

Macarena closes the door behind them. Zulema pins the man onto the wall, holding his hands behind his back while he fights back. With his height and weight, it’s easy to do so, even with an opponent like Zulema who isn’t clumsy and has her years of experience. She takes a step back, unstable because of the strength of man’s struggling.

Before he can act on it more, Macarena wriggles Zulema’s pistol from her busy hands and hits as hard as possible the man’s head. He keeps standing so she repeats it, once aiming for the temple. His hold turns weak and Zulema lets him down gently, lying the unconscious body down on the cold floor.

They share a look which speaks more volume than of the words could. Zulema can tease Maca with a single glance and Macarena answers with unspeakable _shut up_.

There aren’t probably more guards around the place, one or two by every entrance. They chose one of the backdoors, and it guides them to a narrow hallway; to their left stairs lead up to the first floor. However, in front of them, the way leads them straight to the room that was used for keeping raw materials. Now, it’s without the doors and the containers are empty, some even falling apart or burned a little. When Macarena peaks inside one of them, she sees shattered beer bottles and rests of other beverages.

They move through the room swiftly, remaining close to the walls and the closer they get to the door, the faster Maca’s heart pumps blood through her veins.

“Expect dramatics,” Zulema murmurs to her when they are five steps away from facing their fate. “Through my time spent here, he tried to outdo me. We shall see if something’s changed.”

Macarena doesn’t even have time to answer; probably that’s for the best. She wouldn’t stop talking once Zahir let her speak, she would say everything that came on her tongue at the heat of the moment, just to belate them for a while. Just so they can stay in this ruined room, smelling of loneliness and burned materials.

The main hallway they walk out to is oddly empty, no sounds of another living soul. It’s wide enough for a dozen people to walk side by side, and grey just like the rest of the building. Grim with no windows around and glow discharge tubes twitching, turning on and off. Their fake and cold light make it all look like a crime scene.

Maca realizes why it’s so quiet and abandoned the moment they walk into the main, enormous hall reaching the second floor. Ramala already knows.

And Zulema must know he knows they are here.

Yet her steps are sure, stamping her Doc Martens like a soldier, rhythmically and confidently. Even when they pass the entrance and are greeted with darkness by every side and Macarena feels smaller and weaker in the open space. They can be shot from any side now, or attacked. Whatever for that matter; but what still counts - they can lose.

They have to walk through the middle of the hall, Zulema leading her there, as if knowing her role and place on the stage. It feels like the moment is scripted.

Someone flips the switch and the hall lights up, lamps hitting their eyes.

Macarena blinks several times to adjust to the new lighting, just to see Ramala walking out of the shadows. He looks like years ago when she escaped him; an old man with too much power. The most troubling thing walking on this planet. Control and men.

He is standing alone, in front of them and cutting off the way to the main entrance.

She watches the way he eyes them, how his eyes hang on Zulema. Not with hate, not really, he almost looks done and tired. Like it’s not the first person fucking with him and he is used to them. But he also knows Zulema is different, not like _any other person_.

She is trouble, stinging if touched and quick if let go of sight for too long.

But Zahir wouldn’t be his trouble if he didn’t dare to reach further and trying to tie her down. It all came down to digging down through the reasons and faults until Macarena could even reach the very reason of life being on the Earth.

His lips curve into a disgusting smile when his voice echoes through the building, “Zulema Zahir. Brought company just for free?”

Zulema is right back at him, and the thought of it all being staged doesn’t ever leave Maca’s mind.

“I thought you would like some more audience.”

She grins at him boldly while sliding her shaking hands into the pockets of her cargo trousers. Macarena touches her arm almost invisibly. _I am here. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let him lay his dirty hands on you._

“Oh, you’re not counting for an exchange, are you?” He chuckles, taking a step further but then mimicking her hands and also hiding them in the pockets. “Sparing your life for hers?”

“Not really here to be sold out,” Macarena finds her voice and says it as steady as she can.

“Macarena Ferreiro, right? Zulema must really hate you to bring you in here,” His voice is cruel and lacking emotional understanding. It sounds almost wiped off, overused by money and business.

She feels presence around her the moment Ramala takes another step towards them. There are also two men standing behind him, still in the shadows. It takes all of her determination not to look back and count how many of them are there. How badly they are trapped.

Zulema senses it, too, of course, but doesn’t spare a glance even the men in her eyesight.

Looking closely, Macarena notices a drop of sweat sliding down her cheek from the forehead.

“You know I like my deals private,” Zulema snarls. She acts like it’s hard to keep herself from shaking the disgust off her body. “What’s all those men? Are you really that scared of two women trying to find an understanding?” “There is no deal here, Zahir, there is justice for my money.”

“Which I don’t have.”

“Believing you is like asking oneself to be robbed,” He is running out patience, clearly. His amused mask falls down and exposes a soul so greedy. “At this point nothing you say really matters. It’s have grown into something more.”

His pride. It always falls to the matter of a man’s pride and how confident he can get. _A man never forgets_ , he told Zulema once and she shared those words during one of the quiet moments between her and Macarena before they even knew what it would mean in the end. If it is the end.

God, Macarena hopes it is not.

“It’s either me losing respect for myself or killing you,” Ramala explains and the words are thrown into the air so light and recklessly; like the choice is obvious. For him, it probably is.

Macarena knows it’s not a fight between right and wrong, good and bad, it’s never been. She’s never been on the good side, even when she innocently believed so for the sake of not losing her mind. But the white and black reality she was raised with was a big fat lie and there, in real life, she is stuck in the shades of grey she’s never known before. It’s simply a fight between who will win, meaning as well - who will be right. Not about who is good. None of them really are.

They could be good, if only it seemed appealing. Yet, there they are facing each other, participating in a race who will kill first. It all comes down to death eventually, sooner or later.

“You have to kill me first if you want to lay your hands on Zulema, _hijo de puta_ ,” Macarena asserts, a challenge in her voice. She is surprised to hear herself say those words.

She steps out in front of Zulema, covering her with her body, closer to Ramala. She feels a tight grip on her arm and crossed growling behind her, Zulema probably threatening her. As if that’s her biggest problem at that moment.

With one glance of the dark eyes staring holes into her face with hatred, she knows Ramala can’t stand her. That she is worse than the Scorpion for him because of her easy anger and stupid bravado. He snaps his fingers two times and before she can realize what’s going on, someone pulls her hair and yanks her head back, making her lose the balance.

Two men hold her up and start pulling away, towards the hallway.

“I want her alive for now,” Ramala says and those are the last words Macarena hears.

Then, the door closes and she hears screaming in the hall and a shotgun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me in the comments what are your thoughts!  
> the second part of their final meeting will be posted in a week


	17. you never gave a warning sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! it's time to see what will happen to maca and zule...  
> writing it was pain and pain and pain, so with that hopeful input i hope you'll enjoy it 😬
> 
> tw// violence, death, abuse

Her bullet misses a lot. But Zulema Zahir never misses.

It inflames her nerves more, her shaking hands can’t stop moving when she struggles with the pistol and two men trying to take it away from her. She loops into the thinking how _not right_ her lack of precision is and it compounds her anxiety attack, which, all the while, she is trying not to give into.

“Worked better last time,” She hears Ramala somewhere in the background, between the noises of tossing between her and men.

She tries not to flinch when they touch her and finally gives up her gun just not to feel their hands close to her. Through the thick mist, she recognizes one of them, Juan, and wants to scream, wants to put a knife through his heart and cut it piece by piece, and then eat it all the while keeping him conscious somehow. He is searching her, his thick hands on her body and she wants him to burn.

And perhaps he will burn really soon.

He finds the knife inside of her boot and another pistol in the jacket and throws it away, and it echoes in the hall how hard it hits the ground.

She is staring for her weapons for a second, realizing she might be as much of a monster as Ramala is.

Well, that’s the reason she is here, isn’t it? It takes a monster to destroy another monster.

“Third time lucky,” She answers belatedly when she shrugs off the hands on her shoulders. Stepping forward, defenceless, all she begs for is Macarena to free herself. Or to just survive long enough to get her to the exit and make her run until she is far away from this mess and Zulema protects her. She really needs her third time lucky. But luck has never been her friend and she isn’t going to pray for it to forgive her and come to her side.

“Would be if you got your chance,” He has this terrible smirk which appears from time to time between his icy looks. Like he can’t decide which of masks to put on; or if to put one at all.

“They patched you up pretty well,” Zulema lifts her head and inhales deeply. Her eyes shot at the place on the chest where she aimed as if she could see underneath the clothing a scar she must have left.

“Sorry I won’t be able to say the same thing about you,” He says, tilting his head and reading her. “Are the scars gone? Or do they still mark your thighs?”

There is a hiss of laughter behind her back and Ramala raises his hand to shut his boys up.

“It’s actually interesting that I asked your daughter the same thing,” She smiles sympathetically and watches his face crumble down and become a hostile grimace.

Of course, she’s never done anything to her, except for murdering her. But well, she is also dead yet still having to walk on Earth. There are many different kinds of deaths, and the one where you cease to exist and your body decays is the easiest one.

He rushes at her and his hand wraps around her throat, eyes blind in fury. Perhaps it’s not the best way to buy time for Maca, maybe she is too wild for that.

“Keep reminding me every thing for why I should kill your right here and now and I might,” His voice is obviously heated with emotions, the anger buzzing in every word he spits out into her face.

“Still easy to irritate, I see,” She breathes out when he drops his hand and nervously plays with the gun in his other hand. “Not really a good feature for you. I like you better self-collected.”

They stay in silence for a moment before Zulema throws her hands in the air, chuckling.

“What now? I’m waiting for the execution.”

“I want them back.”

She arches her brow and purses her lips while her mind drifts off, wondering if she could make a weapon out of her chains.

“My bracelets, I want them back, Zahir,” He says, back again calm.

Yes, if she did have them she wouldn’t give them back either, just for the hell of it. But, what’s the truth - she really doesn’t have them. They may be lying somewhere close to the factory, or somewhere on the road, or the woman who dropped her off in the town found them in her car, or maybe even - she left them in Saray’s house. That’s a mystery not to be solved because diamonds found on the pavement aren’t to be given back.

Either way, she can just play along and annoy him until her death; it’s coming soon.

“And I want more money, whores and vacation, yet here we are, both unsatisfied,” She stretches her lips in a half-hearted smile.

It hurts, unexpectedly, this time Zulema has something to lose. She always thought she wouldn’t be forgotten even after her bod would decompose but for all the ways she wronged people. They would curse her name, sometimes wonder in awe how awful of a person she had to be to do every cruel action to another human being. Yet, right now she has not one but two hearts to lose.

Her mind comes back to early September, to the coffee shop and the waitress with a round stomach coming to take her order. Her dark circles under the eyes and corners of her mouth pointed down, slumped posture and the aura of fatigue around her. The day was as grim as the blonde. She remembers it all too well.

And she will leave Macarena in the same state when she dies. She will break a heart and it breaks her own, too.

Zulema realizes all the mistakes she’s made and wants to pull hair out of her scalp and scream until her lungs ache. She is going to destroy Macarena, _her_ Macarena and no one can help her now.

She catches a sob halfway of her throat.

Ramala seems not to notice or is too focused on his own thoughts to care. More probable is the second option, Zulema thinks when he speaks up again.

“You don’t understand human feelings, I realize, but even I do. And I need the bracelets back, as they were my parents’.”

Her sorrow changes into raw amusement and she gags with chuckles, still mixing up with sobs, “You really think any sorry story will make me suddenly pull them out of the pockets and give it to you? Maybe even on my knees since I’m surely not worthy to face you standing?”

Time. She needs to buy more time for Maca. And her job will be done once she feels the smoke filling up her lungs and sees the factory stand in flames. Right with Ramala inside.

~

The horror of the shot ringing in her ears is still choking Macarena up. She doesn’t yell or struggle anymore, because it is, quite frankly, pointless. But she’s not given up the fight yet.

They threw her into the room filled with old machines and lots of tangled wires and electrics; none of them working anymore. She is the back of the room, her wrists and ankles tied with rope and every window boarded to not let even a ray of sunlight into the room. Two men are waiting in front of the door, ready if she only decides to take off.

And of course, Macarena is going to try to escape. She doesn’t know yet if it makes her courageous or foolish. It’s all to be seen.

When one of them, a name she’s forgotten immediately, was tying her hands, she pulled out the dumbest trick ever. And it actually worked because he said nothing, not noticing the way she stretched her wrists outside to make the most room for her hands.

Exactly this way she is right now half-way through freeing herself, the shackles stuck at the widest part of her palms but she pulls them with her teeth so hard her eyes water from the pressure. After the longest minute of her life, she feels the rope losing its hold and slide down her slim fingers. Just like that her hands are free and instantly occupied with letting her legs free, too.

Macarena almost smiles when she feels herself stand up in the midst of chaos. She kicks herself internally, realizing it’s only a simple start and somehow she has to find a way to disarm two bigger than her men. _Idiots, really_ , her eyes wildly scan the room for anything heavy enough to drop onto their heads, _but isn’t it really what men are in the end?_

Her eyes set on a detached one part of metallic doors, probably used before to close a case with switches and controls of the factory. They are crooked and rusty and must have seen a good part of this building’s history. She approaches them carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible and not stumble in the maze of cables.

She picks the door up too soon and she is surprised by its weight; her stomach muscles twitch painfully. She sets it down back on the ground and prepares herself.

This time, she holds it another way, finding a direction towards the door where she probably will make more of havoc than actually help.

Everyone always reminded Macarena she wasn’t enough, that no matter what are her intentions and how much she tries to do the best, she will fail. It never was enough. And this time she feels nothing changed, that she is not enough and the mission will burn in the fucking _infierno_.

But Zulema has never told her she is not enough, not a single time. She always accepted what Macarena got to give and did not and nodded simply at that, accompanying her along the way.

So she has to try, one more time. Just for Zulema, for all she owes her.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

And she pushes the door, opening them widely and hitting the man guarding her on the right side of the door. The other one doesn’t even have time to turn back as she raises the heavy case door and with a loud thump drops it onto his head. The last thing he probably sees is Maca, wide-eyed, gaping as the metal lands on his head.

He falls onto the ground with a groan and she can’t give herself even a time to check if he is conscious. The other one, with black hair and short beard, is charging at her, furiously trying to load a gun.

Macarena can’t really say what is he planning to do with a gun this close to the opponent. She takes a leap beneath his left arm and dodges his body. He hits the wall and despite his big size is impressive, it can only be viewed as a weakness, more than power. She is quicker than him and she is thinking better, too. Her eyes search for any salvation while he shakes his head and rallies after the mistake.

She notices a knife which fell out of the first guard’s pocket too late when she feels a man catching her wrist and pulling her towards him so harsh, she thinks she hears a snap in her hand.

A small yelp leaves her mouth and she tries to step back, causing herself even more pain. So she lets him pull her, probably to strangle her more easily and when their bodies meet, she kicks him in the groin.

The man lets her go for a second. And this one little second is all it takes to make him lose the game.

Macarena dives and flies onto the ground, sliding over it and picks up the knife. As fast as possible she rolls over. It’s a lucky move because a moment later a fist hits the floor where she lied a moment earlier.

She stands up and faces one of Ramala’s men, a knife stretched in front of her.

When it comes to the moment she needs to finally make a move, she finds herself captivated by doubt. There is a human being in front of her. She is long past the prison. It’s not about being caught, it’s more of remembering another life she’s taken, this time with premeditation.

One thought about what he did to Zulema is all it takes to any of the hesitations to dissolve and she charges further.

In the last moment, she jumps to the side and whereas he is focused on the point in front of him she is already behind him. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling him backwards and she hits the wall so bad that stars dance in front of her eyes. He starts to jerk and with a swift move she puts the knife to his throat.

Macarena can’t realize in what exact moment the blade cuts the thin layer of skin and everything underneath it but she feels the man lose his strength and his weight hang in her arms. Her hands are wet, and she drops the body loudly. In the back of her head, there is still the thought she is too loud. That any moment now someone will open the door from another room, or the hall and will see her: bloodied hands, a stolen knife in them, a dead man lying by her feet.

Her free hand covers her gaping mouth and she feels her stomach wanting to empty itself. Her head is dizzy but she can’t stop looking at the blood weeping from the cut she made.

Everything itches, she feels dirty, she wants to scrub her body until the skin peels off.

Then, quiet steps resound in the hallway and she thinks, this is it. _They will find me and I can’t even move_.

And from the darkest way she sees a petite figure emerge. Triana.

The girl rushes towards Macarena and stops dead in her tracks, comprehending the sight. Her eyes once point towards the lifeless body and then back to the blonde who is staring at her feet, her eyes lacking life as much as her dead opponent.

“Maca?” She says slowly, a bare whisper coming from the corner.

This wakes Ferreiro up and pulls her from the spiral of thoughts she started to get lost in.

She meets Triana’s eyes, licking her lips and feeling a metallic taste on her tongue. She must’ve put some blood on her lips when she covered her mouth. With difficulties, she swallows and focuses on what has to be done.

“What’s going on?” The younger woman asks, pointing at the corpse and taking a step further.

“If Zulema and I don’t walk out of this building in ten minutes, set it on fire. The burn the car with Goya somewhere away,” Macarena computes, moving towards Triana and pulling her towards the way they entered God knows how long ago.

“ _Qué_?”

“You have to be quick, Triana,” She says and they halt in front of the stairs. “Have you been upstairs?”

“Just came back,” Triana says and points at empty canisters thrown a meter away from them. “But what do you mean to set it on fire? With _you two_ inside?”

The blonde sees hesitation in her companion’s eyes. They are partners in crime, after all, this one last time; no matter who you are it still stings your conscience when you burn whoever you’re working with.

“If we don’t leave the factory it means we’re already dead,” Macarena says grimly, the words sounding strange on her tongue. Death sounds strange when it is so close, it can be seen waving to her from just around the turn. “Burning us won’t change a thing. But it will kill the rest of them. It will kill Ramala. Go!”

Triana stays in place for a second, lingering on what could be a goodbye but then sets off down the hallway.

“Oh, and... “ Maca says when the girl almost disappears behind the corner but turns to her, hearing her voice echo. “Please, contact Saray Vargas and tell her what happened.”

It takes all of her courage to say that; to say what has to be done if she doesn’t make it out alive. The vision of her little daughter, of her tiny sunshine, almost breaks her. Rosa in Zulema’s arms - all she wishes to see one more time. If only they had more time.

For them, she will do what’s needed to be done.

So that’s why she turns to the other side and marches through the corridor, to another murder. Her brain draws a map, and she remembers that despite hallway should be ending by the right wall of the hall, it’s extended and corners the hall, so you can walk through unnoticed. That’s where she is striking.

The factory is emptied, everyone assembled in the hall to see the death and tortures of one fucking woman. Eventually, her march turns into a run, not caring how her steps echo from the walls. She feels the smell of gasoline emerging from the floor and walls and she notices another costrel abandoned in the corner.

 _That’s a start_.

She takes it and finds enough drops at the bottom to take it and run back to the main hallway. Something flammable. _Something flammable. Flammable. Everything is fucking flammable with gasoline_.

This way Macarena has to drag a dead body down the hallway. Before she makes sure the other guy is still unconscious but has a pulse; she doesn’t have the nerve to kill someone not even standing up to fight. She locks him inside the room she wasted too much time before.

But now, she settles the body on the floor right in front of the door leading to the hall. Anyone could open them and see her pouring gasoline over the bloodied clothes and skin, watching as it soaks into the material and hoping it will be enough. It has to be.

She takes matches from the pocket of her jacket and lights up one. When she throws it over the man it lights up a part of his flannel. She throws three more. When the unnerving smell carries in the air, she quickly picks up the stolen knife and runs back to the hidden limb of the corridor.

The sounds of crackling fire begin resounding in the hall as she disappears behind the wall and runs for her life around the hall, begging to be on time. When she corners the room and sees light coming out from the end of the hallway, she slows down and listens to the conversation; the waiting for them to feel the smoke is killing her.

In Macarena’s ears plays on repeat a grunt which resounded in the hall, of course, Zulema’s.

“You’re not the easiest to work with,” Ramala responds to unintelligible words Zulema spits out.

“It’s hard to work with anyone when your brain stopped working dozen of years earlier,” Zulema raises her voice and growls.

At least she is fine if she still has the strength to fight back, even if only in words. But Macarena doesn’t dare to look out to see how the scene is playing out and where she should aim to attack.

Before Ramala can continue the pointless conversation with Zulema, someone starts whispering.

“What is it, boys?”

“Something’s burning.”

A long silence, fallen on the room like a curse.

“Open the door,” Ramala says and when she hears steps towards it, more than one pair, she knows it’s the time to work; a matter of seconds.

She hears a pushed handle and then fire crackling, followed by smoke flowing into the hall and covering everything with the awful smell.

One glance stolen behind the wall and she sees four men leaning out through the door, another jumping already towards the body, planning to put the fire out. There are more men by the walls, all of them staring at the happenings unfolding in the corridor.

What happens next is a stroke of pure luck - the wall catches fire as the flames must have come close enough to the gasoline poured there. The door is next as well.

That’s when Ramala yells out for them to put it out and almost throws them out of the hall, straight into the fire.

Ramala who was pacing around the room but now is standing in the very middle, staring at Zulema and back to Macarena.

Her hand which is holding the knife quivers slightly when she steps out. Through the disturbance and chaos, no one can hear her footsteps. She is quick and swift, almost floating over the floor; her vision gets dizzier the closer she gets to Ramala.

Her eyes meet Zulema’s who is half-sitting, half-lying on the ground for a millisecond, which glisten with the astonishment. Then with all the fury, she has held down in her, for all the pain caused to Zulema, for every nightmare she endured, she puts the knife into his back, on the left from his spine.

It doesn’t go too deep, but Macarena feels the ribs brushing against the blade. She takes it out and stares at the slick hole she just made in Ramala’s body, blood already leaving the wound. There’s no time to stab again because he turns to her, with a moan, barely standing on his legs.

His lips are opened, frantic breaths leave his mouth but no words come out. Well, there are none to be said when you are cut open in the back.

Looking straight into his eyes, she raises her hand again and strikes straight into his chest.

Even if she missed the heart, she is sure he won’t live it through. She twists the knife and then pulls it out of him. At that moment, he falls to the ground; all of the misery follows him down.

Macarena is too busy with running to Zulema and cutting her ties to focus on the blood on her hands and the knife she is using. She tries to ignore marks she is leaving on the rope and on Zulema’s clothes.

Zulema is staring at her when Maca pulls her straight up and pushes where her pistol is thrown off.

The fire breaks into the hall completely, half of the men on the other side of it, but some still facing them.

Despite shock in Zulema’s eyes, she reloads the gun and makes two successful shots as they walk back to the exit. Macarena wishes she had a gun and makes a leap to Ramala’s dead body.

That’s the mistake.

She always makes the most reckless ones, where she could have just used her brain and think before doing. But what’s done is done and she feels bullet flying towards her and Zulema stepping in front of her.

Her heart skips a beat as she whips the gun from Ramala’s hand and spares one glance at the empty eyes.

They don’t find finesse in running to the exit; both of them don’t even turn back to see how many men are shooting. They just pull the handle of giant metal doors, made for transporting glass and rush outside.

Macarena takes the matches from her jacket and throws one after one towards the door and fire bursts out. She pulls Zulema, who is oddly panting, a few meters away.

The brunette jumps away from her and hisses and that’s when Macarena sees a dark stain all over Zulema’s jacket.

“Zulema!” She rushes towards her and tugs at her bomber jacket. “We have to take it off.”

Zulema obeys, what only shows how weak the pain makes her feel.

How she is still standing must be a miracle or just stubbornness. And in a minute she is asking the same question about herself because her whole world spins when she sees a bullet wound in Zulema’s flesh at her right arm. The blood is rhythmically leaving her body with every heartbeat.

Zulema follows her gaze and blankly stares down at the blood escaping her.

A car engine resounds, getting closer to them and Macarena blinks a couple of time, trying to gain focus. Trying to _understand_. Because it can’t end like this, not with Zulema bleeding out.

She holds her in the waist and Zulema’s legs shake, as she tries to take a step further.

Triana and Goya drive from behind the factory, heading towards them; Macarena almost drags Zulema to the backseat.

“I’m gonna get help, Zulema,” She says, opening the door and pulling herself inside, still holding Zahir. “Don’t let go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you on next thursday,  
> every comment will be very appreciated❤


	18. all this time i never learned to read your mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're slowly coming to an end, as totally there will be twenty chapters.
> 
> thank you so much for all the comments. i had a worse week so it was hard to answer them all individually but it doesn't change the fact that every single one raised my spirits, i appreciate them so much. 
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy this chapter😊

Goya is speeding down the road, far from the town and the factory, while Triana is searching for the closest motel on the wasteland.

But Macarena doesn’t pay attention to the empty scene behind the windows, nor where they should go. She has Zulema in her arms, holding her in her lap. The brunette’s legs are stretched on the backseat and her eyes flutter, fighting with the lumbering and pervasive doziness.

Her eyes open widely when she feels pain in her whole body when the car drives through the bumpy part of the road. She sees hazel eyes filled with tears, barely keeping them in. Her hand, the one she can move, reaches up and she cups Macarena’s face in her palm.

She wants to say there’s no reason to cry, that she’ll be fine, with her or on her own. But she’s never been one to lie to Macarena; no matter how cruel the truth was.

Her eyes water once she hears _Rubia’s_ cracking voice.

“We’re safe,” Macarena cries, tears finally streaming down her face and falling onto Zulema’s. She feels like her heart is being ripped out. “We’re safe.” Every cut on her face stings and she feels the taste of blood inside of her mouth. But she can’t afford thinking about it while Zulema is looking at her with defeat in her eyes.

She presses her jacket on the bleeding arm and connects their foreheads, closing her eyes. “We’ll be just fine. _You_ will be okay.”

She can tell Zulema wants to say something but not when someone else is around, it’s something that can be said just between the two of them. And she is not going to press it, despite the spectrum of death hanging above their heads.

Getting Zulema to tell her would be like agreeing to the defeat, acting like if they already lost and they must hurry to say everything unsaid in the years between them. But they have time. There will be other days and times to say those things.

“There is something three kilometres away,” Triana turns back and announces. “Not many visitors and looks kinda shady.”

“So exactly what we need,” Macarena says, not moving even for a centimetre.

They sneak Zulema in not very inconspicuously, given she is bleeding all over the place and needs to be carried by Macarena and Triana, who are holding her up from both sides.

Goya places a fat stack of money on the counter which Maca gave her from the glove compartment in the car and flashes a smile to the receptionist. They get a key to an obscure room, just as the rest of the motel. It’s lacking in people, thankfully, and Macarena notices at least several marks of gunshots on the walls of the dark hallway. Even more scratches around them and either the carpeted floor has an odd style in irregular crimson spots, or spilt blood isn’t an unknown guest there.

Zulema is gently lied down on the double bed and Macarena sits cross-legged beside her and takes a knife, the same she didn’t decide to throw out through their ride. She cuts the material of Zulema’s black T-shirt and it’s hanging heavy with the blood soaking it up.

She’s seen many wounds before, had some on her own body but nothing ever made her as nauseous. Triana notices her slightly turning green and takes the job of stripping the material down completely.

Instantly, they take a fresh compress made out of another shirt and tighten it around the open wound.

“We need a medic, fast,” Macarena says, her voice shaking as she holds the bandage on the arm until her knuckles turn white. Her free hand delicately brushes bangs out of Zulema’s sweaty forehead. She is starting to shiver and her eyes lose the focus.

“I may know someone,” Goya says and pulls out her phone.

Through the whole phonecall, Ferreiro can’t focus on anything else than the fading sparkle in the green eyes. In a hush but stern voice, she keeps telling Zulema to hold on, to keep in place. Letting go would mean giving up, and Zulema has never been one to give up, _so she better fucking stay with her and doesn’t dare to even slip away a bit_.

“Rosa is waiting, you know? Our little Rosie is with Saray and she can’t wait to see us, to see you again,” Maca chuckles, bitter tears still escaping her eyes. “God, I want already to hear her laughter. But of course, she will only laugh with you, she _adores_ you!”

Zulema cracks a smile at that, despite the pain it gives her and how much strength it costs her.

“Blondes have a tendency to adore me,” Her voice is weak but still wears the same tone to it; arrogant confidence. And that smirk knowing how much she plays on Macarena’s nerves.

“Shush! Don’t speak! Don’t waste your energy on me,” Macarena says immediately and ignores the rushing heartbeat. To have more moments like this, she begs, to hear more of that irritating remarks and comments, please. “And I’ve never adored you.”

“Oh, please.”

“Stop it-”

“She will be here as soon as possible,” Goya walks out of the bathroom and puts her phone on the table. “Expect to pay big money.”

Macarena waves her hand at that. No price could keep her away from saving Zulema.

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes tops,” She responds.

“In twenty minutes Zulema will be dead!” Macarena cries out, narrowing her brows. But before the anger can take control over her, Triana steps it and presses her hand on the arm while softly moving Macarena’s away.

“Goya said that it’s the limit, she may arrive sooner,” She says in the calmest voice she can find. “Nobody is dying.”

“I’m dying,” Zulema speaks up, her voice is not bland yet but weaker.

“Shut up!” Macarena raises her voice and doesn’t even look down on the brunette’s face.

“If you want Maca dying from a stroke before you die, you’re on the right path,” Goya smirks to Zulema who would laugh if only not the pain disempowering her body.

“She gets it,” She comments and points at Goya with a smile before falling silent.

They finally settle on a couple of things while keeping Zulema conscious and making her focus on every dumb thing, just so she doesn’t fall into the sleep and then into something _worse_. Goya stays by the brunette’s side while Triana pushes Macarena from the room.

“You have to burn the car,” The younger woman says. “You need to stay away while the medic will operate Zulema because you will go crazy and fuck everything up.”

“I can’t leave Zulema alone!”

“You’ll be back in half an hour and Zulema will be stitched up and recovering,” Triana says and points her hand towards the exit, keys between her middle and pointing finger. “You can’t stay here, c’mon.”

Macarena’s eyes jump from Triana to the closed door and shaking her head, takes the keys into her hands. She gets a reassuring smile and a nod to go as an answer and so she does. She leaves the motel, hoping she can get into a car accident and fall into lethargy until everything’s back to normal and she comes home to Zulema and Rosa.

But for now, she has to stay very much alive and alert, until the car is burned and Zulema is saved. Because she will be; _the Scorpion always has her ways_.

~

Zulema can’t really tell if the pain in her arm is truly there or it’s everywhere else; or perhaps it’s her dizzy head playing tricks. Her eyes become heavier with every second and she fights with everything to focus on Goya’s stupid face above her.

Macarena is nowhere to be seen and Triana comes to the room alone, impatiently stamping her right leg by the door. She sees a pack of cigarettes sticking out her trousers’ pocket and saints, she would kill for one right now. But asking for it isn’t the best idea, even without Maca around her to yell.

Every breath feels like trying to catch sand between her fingers but it escapes anyway.

Zulema hates doctors and getting help but she never wanted to see an idiotic medic sooner. _Preferably before my upcoming death_.

Because she cannot lie to herself anymore, not busy with firing words back at Macarena and focusing on how honey-like are her eyes. She is alone now, with her thoughts in the murderous silence.

And realizes she doesn’t mind the death as it comes, despite she isn’t keen on meeting it so early. But if it comes to it, her biggest fear is erased, it’s gone. Macarena will remember her. Will carry her memory until the end of her life, hopefully for a very long time. And this memory will be passed down to Rosa, who, of course, won’t remember her face from now, but will see photographs and will hear stories and perhaps, _just perhaps_ , Macarena will tell her she was her other mother. Maybe she will be the mother who got away, but her memory will keep floating on the surface. It’s foolish to think it will last forever but for now, Zulema tries to holds on to the thought of Rosa remembering. Or rather getting to know her through stories.

She hasn’t told so many things yet, stuck on her tongue. They feel like poison and she fears saying them will infect the life around her. But she has to tell Macarena before it’s too late-

The door opens, and she can’t really see who is storming into the room but Goya and Triana greet the person so gushingly, it has to be the medic.

In a matter of minutes, Goya moves away from her and she feels all the pressure from her arm gone. So, that’s it - blood will run out of her body until the very last drip, until she is white and pale.

The unknown woman stands by the bed and leans down, studying her body but Zulema can’t really tell what’s happening. But the blonde hair doesn’t match the situation at all.

“You’re not my _Rubia_ ,” She says hoarsely.

“I’m certainly not,” The blonde says and Zulema can’t focus on noticing how many things are suddenly surrounding them.

“It’s much more serious than you told me through the phone. I will need assistance.”

“How could I tell how badly she got shot down. I see a bullet hole, then it’s a bullet hole. That’s it.”

“Give me my bag, quickly!”

Zulema sees a single crow sitting behind the window and would roll her eyes if only she felt the strength to do so. Suddenly she is heavier, all of her body, than before and she feels her mind slipping. But where to? She has to stay.

The bird is flying away and she doesn’t have anything to hold on and her hand isn’t working.

The medic does whatever she wants to her and Zulema can’t even mind.

“I have to put you under,” She explains while pointing at something to Triana.

“Macarena told me not to close my eyes,” Zulema murmurs, her chest full of pain with every word. She doesn’t really know if it’s pain in her lungs or a heartache.

“Right now, you have to.”

Zulema is overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness when she can’t even stop the woman from putting a facemask over her nose and mouth. She tries to stop breathing, not to accept whatever they’re trying to get into her enter her lungs. But she fails, panting at this point, and deciding not to take herself away from the rests of oxygen she is able to inhale.

She gets sleepy in a matter of seconds. The sense of weightlessness is pure bliss after all that misery. Macarena will be mad for her slipping away, won’t she? But just for a moment, Zulema decides, she can rest.

For a quick moment. Nothing but a flash in time. So Zulema lets go.

~

The way back to the motel is tiring, at least four kilometres walk from the place Macarena burned the car. It’s hidden between two hills, close to dumpsters and the vehicle is still probably burning down. She took all the money, her levis sunglasses and maps and headed back where she is most afraid to go.

Halfway through the walk, she has to take a break because her heart is beating so fast, and her anxiety gets worse with every step. But rest doesn’t work so she decides to still march, despite her nerves make her want to empty her stomach and lay down, curled up and halt for a couple of days.

When the highway appears in the view, she knows it’s only a matter of fifteen minutes until she gets to the nameless motel.

She doesn’t know really how long she was gone and if she greets Zulema in the middle of treatment or already saved and napping. Sweat is collecting at the bottom of her neck, right above the back, so she pins up her head in a messy bun, flinching when she pulls them too hard. Perhaps it’s time to go back to short hair.

Her breath hastens when she arrives in front of the entrance to the motel.

She passes a strange woman a couple of doors from their room, who looks extremely exhausted. When they go past each other, Macarena only realizes it must be the medic.

With an abrupt move, she turns back and asks a question which is the most difficult she’s ever said.

“Is she alive?”

The curly-haired blonde turns back to her and glances at her for a long while. Then, she breaks a little tired smile, nodding reassuringly.

“A week or two and Zulema will have her strength back. I left more advice to your friends.”

Macarena gasps, realizing how hard it was to breathe before and thanks, before running off to their room. Her only purpose is Zulema, _alive_. So much history in front of them, together. They won’t part, not even death will take one of them now.

She storms inside and halts seeing Zulema softly breathing on the bloodied bed; her chest rises rhythmically and her eyes are closed, blinking from time to time. Her muscles look relaxed, like there was no pain, like she doesn’t feel it anymore.

“She is supposed to wake up in an hour,” Goya says and Macarena for the first time since entering the room takes her eyes off Zulema. “Mónica put her into a coma.”

Triana is sitting on a chair behind her girlfriend, all sweaty, “I’m never helping again in that shit.”

Macarena stares and can’t bring herself to say anything; she simply sits on the bed besides Zulema. Her fingers trace down her healthy arm and she bites her lip to hold back sobs. Tears are streaming down her face and she realizes how exhaustive past days have been. How on the verge of an emotional breakdown she kept herself for all this time. Now she simply curls up around Zulema’s body and closes her eyes, soaking the sheets beneath her.

The sunset is what wakes Macarena up. Their windows are straight to the direction where the sun is hiding behind the horizon so for a peaceful while she watches the last sunrays hitting the sky and her own swollen eyes.

What brings her out of the soft trance is slight shaking beside her. She instantly turns around and sees Zulema laughing from her lying position and pointing at something with her hand.

And this way, Macarena is crying again; she cannot count which time it is that day. Zulema doesn’t notice at first but she turns her head and sighs.

“ _Rubia_ ,” She breaths out.

Macarena leans in and kisses her delicately, to not hurt her. It’s a short kiss, barely touch of lips and they stay in each other’s orbits for a moment, forehead against forehead. She doesn’t care about the whole goddamn world, it’s only white noise in the background.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Well, not really my fault,” Zulema grins and brushes her nose against Maca’s.

Macarena also smiles, through her tears and strokes Zulema’s cheek with her hand.

“Most of the things are your fault, Zulema,” She remarks.

The snarky comment makes Zahir move away and her eyes are glistening with that wicked gleam again. It’s back.

“ _Joder_ , I already miss the comatose, the silence and peace without you,” She says and falls back onto the pillow. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Macarena how her face flinches when she moves her shot arm.

“It’s only the beginning,” Macarena chuckles and wipes the tears off her face. “I will make your life a living hell.”

“What a nice greeting,” Zulema nods and closes her eyes again.

She falls asleep soon after, while Macarena gets up and tries to ignore the curious looks from Triana and Goya. They spend the evening playing cards and eating food ordered from the kitchen; Zulema sleeps through everything.

“What now?” Triana asks when she loses for the third time and puts her cards away.

“Pass them to me,” Macarena gestures at the stack.

“No, I meant, we are stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

Macarena’s eyes instantly move to her dying phone thrown on the chest of drawers. She stands up and checks if there is any signal.

“I will get us a lift,” She says and smiles. Her fingers scroll through the contacts and stop at the letter S.

She dials the first number there and rests her back against the wall, waiting for the familiar voice to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so the hard times come to an end...


	19. but i could turn things around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost coming to an end and it gets me really emotional😖 i'm really attached to this fanfic and letting go seems hard. however, here is the next to last chapter, with the deserved amount of fluff and content.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!🥰

Macarena tries to keep her footsteps light and quiet as she walks up the stairs. Rosa in her arms is giggling and announcing her usual gibberish that she missed so much.

Even Estrella is quiet upstairs, knowing to not disturb anyone on the floor. Well a certain _anyone_.

When Macarena opens the door to the guest room, she expects to see Zulema asleep; yet is surprised with expectant green eyes staring at her. It’s been at least one day or more so since she found Zulema completely conscious.

She started getting terrible fevers when they came back and with every day it seemed she would never truly wake up from her fever nightmares. But, there she is, her eyes bright as ever.

“Hi,” Maca mumbles, closing the door behind her.

“What’s up with the hair?”

After sitting down on the edge of the bed, Macarena lets the wriggling baby on the sheets beside Zulema. She rolls over on her stomach much quicker than Zulema remembers.

The brunette reaches out with her healthy arm and takes a strand of blonde hair between her fingers. They are cut to Macarena’s jawline, a sharp straight line so she definitely didn’t do it herself, as her hands make a poor job as a hairdresser. (They tried. One of the biggest mistakes Zulema ever made).

It doesn’t escape her notice the way a grimace passes through the blonde’s face, just for a second when she softly pulls her hair.

She lets go of it and cups Macarena’s cheek.

Ferreiro looks surprised but leans into the touch.

“You liked them long, didn’t you?”

“I think I needed a change,” Macarena says, her eyes escaping to stare at Rosa.

All Zulema still sees is her Maca. As beautiful as ever and deserving better.

“Saray cut it?” She asks and gently holds Macarena, pulling her on the bed. The blonde gives in and hides under the covers, stripping down her jeans and staying in underwear and an orange T-shirt.

Rosa is playing with her rattle between them, hesitating between biting into it with her toothless gums and tossing it around.

“She began but Estrella finished it,” Maca turns on her side and rests her chin under her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I don’t feel like throwing up my insides so better, I guess,” Zulema snarks and helps Rosa turn on her back.

“I can bring you a book if you want- oh, and I will make hot tea, I should call Saray, right? to see you, too-”

“ _Rubia_ , stop.”

Macarena is already halfway out of the bed when Zulema starts to sit up. That’s what brings her immediately to the bed.

“You are not supposed to move!” Maca pushes her back on the pillow and brings covers up to her neck.

“I’m not dying, Maca,” Zulema says and rolls her eyes.

But when she focuses on Macarena’s face again, her eyes are filling up with tears. She feels dread wash over her because making that woman cry again is not her purpose at all.

“ _Oye_ , why are you crying?”

“Because I… I feared you wouldn’t really wake up again,” Macarena whimpers through sobs already shaking her body.

Rosa instantly looks up at her mom and her own eyes become glassy and soon she cries out with all of her strength. That brings Maca back to her senses and she wipes her the tears off, taking her daughter into her arms. She shushes her and lullabies into a shallow sleep.

“I would have to,” Zulema says and she quietly clears her throat. “Because I didn’t tell you everything.”

Macarena’s eyes widen, “Please, don’t tell me you have more narcos on your head. Please, just d-”

“ _Te quiero_."

She smiles nervously, staring at Macarena’s trembling bottom lip. She holds down her shaking hands on the sheets and feels how stupidly her heart rushes; all those years she hasn’t said those words, Saray aside. She has a definite and clear conclusion Macarena feels the same from a couple of days ago and even more from what she’s done for her. But loving and be loved back sounds ridiculous, even laughable, when it comes to her.

“ _Yo también_ ,” Maca says back and does what can only be called throwing herself on Zulema. Her lips are hungry and exactly what Zulema longed for the past three days when she was conscious enough.

They can’t get close enough, because of Rosa between them, and because Zulema’s arm is still weak enough to hurt it with one harsh movement.

After spending such a long period of time in bed, Zulema can’t get enough of the sense of something else than the metallic taste of blood or the smell of not used bedroom. There is an almost uncatchable flavour of coffee beneath mint gum, Macarena’s lips emanate warmth that she searched for in all the places she’s been to.

She can’t help but smile into the kiss, something so silly and domestic she wants to scoff at herself. Macarena smiles back and pulls her in for longer until both of them have to catch a breath.

Macarena leaves several moments after, taking sleeping Rosa with her and promising to visit later after Zulema takes another nap. In hell, she is going to sleep again but Zulema doesn’t share that thought with her- whatever they are now. She raises to a sitting position and tugs at her T-shirt until she can glance at the bandage tied over the stitches. When she tries to move her arm it stings, her face wincing in pain.

Succeeding, after a couple of attempts, she gets up from the bed. Her head is spinning and she leans on the wall, feeling her numb legs and shaking them. She downs a glass of water left on the nightstand and walks to the window. It’s already getting dark, give or take an hour before the sunset.

In front of the mirror she laughs at her appearance: hair unwashed for at least a week, shirt most probably from Saray and one of those grey loose shorts Macarena used to wear to sleep. Yellow socks reach to the mid of her calves and she is glad Maca remembered. Cold feet are worse than anything.

Her heart is skipping, almost running just when the blonde’s name echoes through her mind. She gets dizzy again because the weight of her confession falls onto her and she considers changing her identity and leaving the country.

Yet, she walks out of the guest room, deciding to face all of her decisions.

Estrella is walking down the corridor, towards the stairs but turns her head around when she hears the door closing behind her.

Her eyes widen and lips curl into the biggest of grins as she runs to Zulema.

“ _Madrina_!” She hits Zulema’s body and embraces her but then, immediately jumps back, panicking. “I forgot about your arm! I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Zulema laughs, and she can’t remember the last time she laughed so carelessly, so free.

“I’m fine,” She messes with Estrella’s long hair and puts a strand behind her ear.

“I was worried,” The girl says as they head towards the stairs. “Mom was too. Probably still is, since the moment Macarena called,” She rambles. “I stayed with Rosa, y’know? All by myself, but I think I did just perfectly. She did not cry a tear, even if she did, I wouldn’t tell you. You are kinda overprotective.”

“I’m not,” Zulema says, heavily breathing with every step.

Estrella places her hand around her middle and Zulema just grits her teeth and lets herself be helped.

“You would kill anyone who would hurt her,”

“True. But that’s just common sense, not overprotectiveness.”

She can _hear_ her goddaughter rolling her eyes.

“For the matter, I would kill everyone who would hurt not only Rosa but also you and Saray,”

“And Macarena…?” At the bottom of the stairs, she stops Zulema with this question and smirks. It scares Zulema sometimes, how many qualities she and her mother have in common. Like she is watching a little version of Saray be as sassy as usual.

She would go to hell for Macarena. Until the very pits of _el_ _infierno_ , she would burn herself to the bone. And Ferreiro would do the same for her. They would probably end up consumed by flames side by side, making a contest out of it who can last longer, or who will show less pain. But still by each other’s sides.

Her tongue weights down two options but she finally settles for the truth.

“I would destroy everyone on this planet.”

Estrella looks content with the answer and she nods to herself as if proud she made Zulema say that.

She enters first and then Zulema march into the room, trying to look like she doesn’t feel the world tilting and pain overcome her whole body.

“Zule!” Saray opens her mouth and clasps her hand over it.

In the same moment, Maca says, “You were supposed to stay in bed.”

Zulema feels herself breaking inside seeing Saray’s eyes lighting up and glistening.

“ _Gitana_ , come here,” She opens her healthy arm and smiles, her lips quivering.

“I’m going to murder you,” Saray whispers into her ear when she hugs Zulema from one side. “You stink.”

“I love warm greetings,” Zulema murmurs into Saray’s skin.”

They send her off soon to the bed after pushing a meal for three into her and warm tea. Macarena walks her back, ignoring her comments and buying her into lying down with one puppy look; she gets a groan but Zulema smiles at her anyway and pulls her closer. For a moment Macarena wonders what Zahir wants from her but then sees awaiting lips and gives in, slowly making Zulema lay down.

She makes her goodbye with a soft _I love you_ and Zulema blushing all over. She waits to chuckle after she leaves the room and rests against the cold surface of the door.

~

Macarena settles on the couch next to Saray who doesn’t move away. She seems to accept her since she heard the whole story of what happened in the factory, but some questions still linger in the air between them.

One may say they are being _friendly_ with each other. And overstatement, really, but a funny one.

Zulema is back on her feet completely two days later, ignoring glances she gets from them and planning and plotting and everything the Scorpion spends her time on. She puts out a stack of money Maca decides not to question.

At midnight they ask her to finally rest but get only a grim answer.

“We have no time.”

And they really don’t, as much as it’s hard to agree with Zulema who still is in a terrible state. Rumours spread far through the coast about two gangs fighting in the forsaken factory, police is involved. And it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Zulema leaves Saray money for a new car and buys tickets and rents a place somewhere far away, Macarena doesn’t get the information where for too long. Saray promises to sell their apartment if they don’t come back in a year and make sure everything that belongs to them is prevented safely in her own garage.

The day before they leave, Macarena and Zulema find themselves on the same porch they were standing barely over a week earlier, in completely different circumstances. With no truths showed, thought of as weaknesses.

This time Macarena is pressed against Zulema’s chest, her legs thrown over Zahir’s lap. She rests her head against her shoulder, listening to the soft humming.

“I don’t wanna leave,” She murmurs, breathing in the scent of the ground after the rain. Everything is starting to bloom all over again.

“Me neither.”

Leaving again after they just came back, and not even to their own home, is not the best perspective for the future. They stay silent with the grim thoughts and darkness surrounding them.

“At least we are together,” Macarena says. “And whatever is coming we will face it together.”

She never thought it would come to this but when her hand covers Zulema’s it feels right. Like all along, one way or another, they would fall into the place where they are and no matter how many arguments and wars would burst between them, the battles would be conquered and they would lay their weapon and armour down.

On Zulema’s face lights up a playful look and Maca tilts her head.

“ _Qué_?”

“We should think about how Rosa should address us,” Her expression is too thoughtful and Macarena knows she should expect something utterly dumb. “I think me as the better mom is too obvious.”

“Oh, you just _didn’t_ ,”

“Did what? Told the truth?”

Zulema is hiding her smile when Macarena glances at her, acting hurt and outraged.

“She came out of my womb!”

Then she shuts her mouth realizing this conversation can go very wrong if they don’t stop. It’s still a sensitive topic, children, the ones they lost in the past. Zulema also silences for a moment.

“I’ll be mom,” Maca eventually speaks up, leaning back to face Zulema. “And you’ll be mama.”

“Mama. I like that,” Zulema nods approvingly.

Just as if Rosa senses what they are talking about, she cries out from the inside of the house. Macarena instantly rushes to her, leaving Zulema behind.

The brunette gets up and looks around for the last time, already missing the familiar garden which emanates her sister’s energy. Everything hurts at the thought of leaving so many good things behind but it’s not the first time, and probably not the last when she has to forsake everything in the name of the future. And the future looks really bright and promising when she hears Maca’s singing from the living room.

~

Their goodbye gets longer and longer with Saray remembering other things to tell them and keeping them close. The rented car is parked in front of her house and they packed only two bags with the most important things, mostly Rosa’s.

The little girl is in Saray’s arms who rocks her back and forth, smiling down at her.

Estrella comes to Macarena when Zulema and Saray are too busy to notice and smiles knowingly, like she has a secret.

“I heard _madrina_ and you are together, so I think it’s appropriate I will start calling you _tía_ Macarena,” She grins. “Is that okay?”

Macarena is dumbfounded at first, staring at the teenager in front of her. _Tía_.

She never got to be called that by Roman’s daughter who is even bearing her name. It’s just never really worked out and now she doesn’t know if it will be alright to reach out. She doesn’t even know if she wants that. But she wants to be Estrella’s aunt.

“I would like that very much,” She smiles softly, trying not to show how deeply it touched her.

Estrella hugs her, out of nowhere, arms around her neck. She hugs her back and they slightly rock to sides.

“ _Oye_! What’s going on there?” Saray calls out and heads towards them, Zulema right behind.

Her daughter jumps back and sends Macarena a conspicuous smile while turning to the other women, “Goodbyes.” She shrugs, covering her grin with a soft expression.

Macarena does the same but Zulema reads through her immediately; she raises a brow and leaves the question unspoken. Maca just shakes her head and takes Rosa from Saray, the girl reaching for her short hair. She seems to find amazing wonder in them, pulling and running her tiny fingers through the strands.

Finally, Zulema and Macarena find themselves sitting in the car, Macarena behind the wheel, with the brunette in the backseat talking to Rosa who curiously looks around from her booster seat.

“Call me when you will get to Algeciras!” Saray calls out and waves to them.

Macarena turns on the engine and looks back… at her family.

“What are you waiting for, _Rubia_? _Vamos_!”

And Maca smiles, looking forward to what’s waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll see you in a few days when i post the epilogue❤


	20. the epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t really know how to start this. I guess, in the simplest way.  
> Thank you.  
> For every kudo, for every comment. For sticking with this story for over half a year.  
> What’s funny it started out as one-shot. It was supposed to be a little closure, kind of coping after the disappointing ending of El Oasis. I just wanted to write for myself Zulema alive one more time and it turned into… this mess of a story.  
> I had no idea it’s so hard to say goodbye to a story which had me trouble sleeping for months while I tried to plot out everything and deciding what ending Maca and Zule should have. (There was a thought about killing one of them off, eventually both but I got hold of my sick ideas).  
> Seeing so many people actually liking it and waiting for another chapter gave me so much confidence in writing and just, happiness. When I had bad days, all it took was a comment waiting for me in the inbox and I could smile again.  
> So, thank you again. I really appreciate you joined this journey with me.  
> Until the next time.  
> Hope you enjoy the epilogue<3

Freedom.

That’s what Zulema can sense in the breeze when she steps outside on a little passage, located on both sides of the ferry. She closes her eyes and leans on the barrier, listening to the waves waving them gently.

They’ve just passed the border to Morocco and she can feel the difference in her bones. All those years in Spain and now the world opened for her.

She knows Macarena is standing behind her before the blonde speaks up.

“The captain said we will be reaching the shore in less than an hour,” She says, stepping forwards.

Rosa screeches, her voice somewhere between terror and disbelief when she sees the powerful water surrounding them. Every time she gets a glimpse of it, she screams out with the same feeling.

Zulema turns to her and reaches out, then painfully takes her hands back. She still can’t carry her babygirl, because of the stitches and aches she gets at times in her arm.

She changes her aim and leans in, touching Rosa’s nose with her own, smiling when giggles echo straight into her face. She laughs too and bops her nose, making even more noise.

“You’re gonna get cold, come inside,” Macarena says, affection in her hazel eyes like a flood. Zulema barely makes it out alive and doesn’t drown.

“Just one more moment,” She pleases and then rolls her eyes at the unsure expression of Macarena’s. “ _Por favor, Rubia_.”

Zulema goes back to her previous position and feels Maca’s warmth pressing into her behind, Rosa between them. The little girl starts playing with the material of her shirt and Zulema can guarantee it soon will end up in her mouth, drenched.

“Maybe we can go to France after some time in Morocco?” Out of nowhere, Maca jumps out with the question.

“We’re not even in Morocco yet, slow down,” Zulema laughs but then thinks about it. The idea doesn’t sound bad. Perhaps, one day, they could see what that country holds for them.

“I know, I know, I was just… thinking,” Maca also chuckles softly and it dies out quickly.

They stay silent and it flows between them naturally. Silence never been awkward for them, never felt wrong. It actually says things for them when it’s too hard because they _hear_ each other; their connection never breaks, it can tangle, it can pull, it can lose its hold but it never breaks.

Zulema feels chills on her back, asking herself what if one day it will break. Because she doesn’t know what’s coming in the future, it’s all big unknown and for the first time, she fears it truly, because there is so much to lose.

She can’t see they are going to stay in Morocco for two years, settled in the suburbs of Safi, watching Rosa’s first steps and hearing her say _mama_ and patiently teaching Macarena Arabic and seeing how Rosa’s ears catch out and repeat some of the words.

She can’t see they are going to visit France for another year. Staying in the south, Saray and her new girlfriend and Estrella are going to visit them in summer, spending days in the fields, in the middle of complete nowhere.

And after all those years, they are going to come back to their favourite place, the apartment where everything has started, in time to sign Rosa up to preschool and then, school and watch her first days. Zulema is going to see Macarena tear up and call her dumb while shedding tears in secret herself. They are going to watch their daughter grow into a moody teenager, bringing boys and girls to her room, trying to be sneaky but ending up caught by Zulema, who is going to question each one of her friends.

They are going to get an invitation to Saray’s wedding, Zulema as her best woman.

And after a year or more, Macarena is going to drop on one knee, the wedding still stuck in her head and ask Zulema a question which could sabotage everything. But Zulema is going to blurt out a choked _yes_ and pull Maca up to kiss her.

She is going to cry only one time in front of Rosa, when the girl is going to come to her with an envelope and bring out documents to sign. Her daughter is going to roll her eyes, in the same exact manner that she has learned from Zulema but her lips are going to tremble when she is going to say,

“I know you are already my mama and all, but I just wanted to have it officially. I wanted to have it written down, that I have two moms in the eyes of this country.”

Zulema is going to swipe her into her strong embrace, ignoring Macarena weeping in the kitchen.

Both of them are going to stand proudly, watching their daughter get into the Barcelona Academy of Art and a couple of years later, when first grey wisps line Macarena’s hair which she is going to keep short until the end, they are going to watch her get her award and degree.

They are going to follow as the time passes, eventually deciding on one hot night to get married in a secret, just two of them, no one else. The next morning they are going to already have rings on their fingers and another memory just between them.

From time to time, they are going to hear from Triana and Goya, their relation somehow sticking, after what they’ve been through. Rizos is going to keep in touch with Macarena, visiting the town once a couple of months and right after she leaves, Zulema is going to show Maca how much she is only hers.

Zulema is going to lose her mind when Rosa is going to tell them she is getting married to some bimbo from Barcelona and Macarena is going to have to calm her down, hiding her amusement.

Both of them are going to be there, even more, Zulema is going to walk Rosa down the aisle, killing the husband with her stare and barely keeping it together when they kiss.

Despite how much time is going to have passed from their own secret wedding, she is going to whisper into Macarena’s ear, “Don’t you regret we didn’t have something like this?”

And Macarena is going to take Zulema’s hand and kiss its palm, “I don’t regret a single moment with you.”

They are going to battle a monster stuck in Zulema’s head together, until she is announced cancer-free and they’re going to spend a month just celebrating, driving straight to Barcelona. Saray is going to come, too, with her family and those days are going to be the happy blessed days. Each one of them remembering the euphoria of seeing Zulema grow out her hair and dance again.

Macarena is going to smile more after that and say the word _love_ even more often and Zulema, for once, isn’t going to hate it. She is going to cherish every moment, despite the aches in her old body after what it went through.

They are going to be next to each other until Zulema is going to swear on her old body, on her hands which are going to shake so badly she isn’t going to be able to do anything. When her body is going to turn cold in the bed she spent over thirty years in, it’s Macarena who is going to find her, dying in her arms.

She isn’t going to see that but Saray is going to pull Macarena away from the open coffin and silence her muffled cries, while sobs are getting stuck in her own throat.

There are going to be so many decades ahead of them. Until the very end, they are going to be together. And even after.

But for now, Zulema can’t see any of that, everything is still in front of her, to be laid out by life, like cards.

She doesn’t know anything but she decides it doesn’t matter, as Macarena kisses the nape of her neck and hides her nose in the black hair.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @imshakesqueer  
> any feedback will be very appreciated!


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